“Dyanna is dead.”

Those words from Lyonel hung in the air and made your ears ring.

What were you supposed to say? What were you supposed to think? Things couldn’t have been worse than they were in that moment.

Before you could form a thought or even say anything, Lyonel grabbed your hand and whisked you away.

You glanced back at Maekar, whose eyes met yours instead of looking at Baelor.

Lyonel brought you back to your room, shutting the door behind the two of you.

You walked towards the edge of your bed, leaning against the footboard— your heart in your throat.

“Did Maekar kill her?—“

“Did he kill his own wife?” You asked, your voice coming out small.

Lyonel stood near the chairs and table, shaking his head as he poured himself some wine.

“Not that I know of. He apparently said that he’d come to check on her again after her being ill and she was cold to the touch.”

“Perhaps he should’ve killed her, after her outburst yesterday.” He mumbled.

You closed your eyes, a deep sigh leaving your lips— your fingers twisting the pendant on your necklace.

“May the old gods watch over her, may she never be forgotten.” You whispered.

Lyonel hovered over the table near him, the goblet still in his hand and a scowl on his face.

“You pray for her?—“

“The woman that threatened to take your child from you in her last day of life.”

“I pray for her children, especially the young ones that are now without a mother. I pray that her death does not break them, that Maekar can guide them.” You replied.

You walked to your window, tears falling down your cheek.

Your tears weren’t of sadness or for you, but for him— for how he’d feel at the end of all of this.

Lyonel sipped wine from his goblet and laughed in the midst of doing so.

Your eyes flickered over your shoulder towards him.

“They ruin everything that they touch, even ruining the simple life that we had planned. You pray for them as if they deserve it, it’s nonsense.”

You wiped your face, staring back out the window at the snow and ice covering the ground.

“I may be many things, but I’m not cruel. It never hurts to be sympathetic to their loss.”

He put down his goblet, wiping his lips.

“I have no sympathy left for any of them, especially after that stunt that she pulled. She threatened our—“

His words were interrupted by a knock at the door, the door opening with Baelor standing there.

“Lady Stark, I’d like to speak with you.”

You turned to face Baelor, your mouth opening and closing as your words failed you.

You nodded, leaving the room with Baelor and the two kingsguard that he had present.

You walked down the hall with Baelor, your eyes watching as servants walked with purpose. Your home felt unrecognizable for many reasons outside of the obvious.

It was a mess and too quiet, like everyone had forgotten how to breathe after the news broke.

Baelor walked you to the council meeting room, guiding you in as the kingsguard posted outside of the door.

You didn’t know what to expect, not really.

Inside the room Queen Myriah sat in one of the chairs, waiting on the two of you.

The door shut with a loud thud behind you, your palms beginning to sweat.

Baelor took a seat, gesturing for you to sit as well.

“Lady Stark, I am sure that you have heard the news of Dyanna’s passing.” He spoke.

“Yes, I have and I’d like to offer my deepest sympathies to your family.” You replied, your voice shaky.

Queen Myriah stared at you, her eyes bloodshot as if she’d spent hours crying.

“I just want to say that what happened at that meeting should not have happened. No one wanted to take Rhaenyra from you..but there was a tabled discussion on how to handle the situation.” Baelor informed you.

You stared at him, your tongue pressed against your teeth.

“This whole ordeal was supposed to be a simple thing. We were to discuss and handle the matters that pertained to the realm, have a few grand feasts, resolve the issues, and return home—“

“I’ve instead been disappointed by my son and by you.” Queen Myriah admitted, staring at you.

Her words of disappointment made your stomach turn into a knot. It was like you were hearing the words from your own mothers mouth. You never intended to disappoint anyone, it was never supposed to happen this way.

Baelor tapped his fingers against the table, his focus on you.

“My brother's wife has died and we’re only a few days into our stay.”

You shrugged, wiping the tears before they fell from your eyes.

“Yes, that is unfortunate— but it has nothing to do with me. I am unsure of the need to summon me over this.” You responded, your voice coming out in a higher pitch.

“You are not summoned about the death of Dyanna.” Queen Myriah commented.

“You are here because we need to discuss Rhaenyra.” Baelor added.

You bit your tongue, your head hung in defeat— a laugh escaping your mouth before you could stop.

All anyone cared about and wanted to talk about was Rhaenyra, like it was the only word anyone knew. She was yours, why couldn’t they just let well enough be?

“I never intended for any of you to find out about her in truth, I didn’t mean to cause any harm or concern. I wanted us to be fine here and left alone..”

“We knew peace before the arrival of the royal family, let us get back to that.” You boldly admitted.

Queen Myriah’s eyes widened, her shoulders pulled back.

Baelor’s lips twitched, his fingers no longer tapping against the table.

“One doesn’t have to intend harm to do it, Lady Stark. You should not have indulged my brother by lying with him.”

You scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I have had plenty of nights to sit with my reckless decision, to understand the life that I have given my daughter. I do not need your judgment, Baelor.”

“We are not here to cast judgment as no one in this room is perfect—“

“Given the fragility of the situation, we have to ask something of you. I am unsure how you’ll respond to this request, but we ask you to consider it nonetheless.” Queen Myriah interjected.

“With the untimely passing of Dyanna and the revelation of Rhaenyra, there has now been a constant tension. Rhaenyra is blood of the dragon, bore from a woman of a great house.” Baelor continued.

“We want you to marry Maekar.”

Your eyes felt like they could bulge from your skull as you stared at him.

“What?—“

“Is this a jape?” You frowned.

“No, far from. The stability of our house is fragile and this request does not come lightly.” Myriah responded.

You stood from your chair, your brows furrowed.

“This is an ugly, vile request and I will not consider it! I am to marry Lyonel.”

Baelor chuckled, low and deep in his throat— shaking his head in disbelief.

“Lyonel Baratheon? This stay is getting more interesting as the hours pass.”

“It is only a request at this time, Lady Stark. However, Rhaenyra shall be connected to her family. I doubt the king will have it any other way, it is only his abundance of care that this is a request to begin with—“

“It might not be one for long though.” Myriah confessed.

You pulled your shoulders back.

“He would demand it?”

She shrugged her shoulders, wiping her eyes as they watered.

“If he felt it necessary, considering the two of you cannot stay away from one another. He does not want to though.”

“I’d like to be excused.” You asked, your heart racing.

She nodded.

You left the room, your heart feeling like it was in your throat. The walk to your chambers was hazy, everything felt off and wrong— you felt off. When you reached your room, you were thankful that it was empty.

You slammed the door behind you, startling the servants.

The room felt like it was closing in on you and your veins burned with rage.

You knocked everything off of your desk, glass shattering as it hit the stone.

“Fuck!” You yelled, your tears flowing from your eyes.

This situation had spiraled beyond your reach, far beyond what you could control and understand. Dyanna was barely cold and they were already preparing for you to marry Maekar.

Maekar sat in Dyanna’s chambers, her cold body only being taken away a few moments prior.

She was here one moment and gone like a whisper in the wind the next.

There were no true words to describe his feelings, none that could explain how weird it was for him. Weird to now be without the woman that he’d been married to for years, but relief because he was now free.

He was at a loss, no idea how to begin getting his children through this loss.

What was his life supposed to be like now? What was he supposed to say in response to people’s sympathies?

For the first time in his life, he was lost— lost navigating something that he’d never been prepared for.

He sat there in the seat near the bed, staring at the stone as if it would change into something else.

Even in the time alone in that room, you crossed his mind. His wife had just died, yet he thought of you and your child. It was disgusting and he was ashamed, it was a special kind of torment.

Winterfell was now in mourning, your home felt colder than it usually did. All meetings and realm dealings were to be paused until after the funeral. Your home hadn’t felt this way since your own mother had died years prior.

Rhaenyra sat on your bed, playing with the small wooden toys that Lyonel had made for her.

You knelt beside your desk, placing the things that you had knocked off back onto it. Your hands shook as you picked up the big shards of glass that were scattered across the floor.

The glass being broken into small pieces is how you felt, you felt like something broken— something that was broken beyond repair. Your life would never be what you wanted, not anymore.

Your life was a complete mess, the entire thing. It was never perfect before, but it was yours. It was your small, quiet, and ordinary life. It may not have been normal or fitting for a lady to others, but you loved it— every part of it.

Once you picked up the glass, you grabbed the broom and began to sweep the smaller pieces.

Your mind went back to the conversation with Queen Myriah and Baelor, what they asked of you. Their solution to the problem that you had dumped in their lap.

You wanted to blame them, be angry that they’d suggest it— but this was all on you. Your selfishness, your lack of restraint, and respect for yourself.

How were you going to tell Lyonel? Gods, you couldn’t even figure out where he belonged in your life at that moment. What the two of you had before was perfect, it was simple and now it was chaos. You didn’t want to ruin it or ruin him.

Rhaenyra babbled on the bed, trying to chew on one of her toys. She was completely unaware of everything that had happened, she was happy and smiling.

You emptied the glass into the waste bin beside your desk, the door to your room opened— small footsteps against the stone.

“Lady Stark..”

“I wanted to meet my sister.” A small voice spoke, his words coming out small and unsure.

It was Aegon with Rhae right beside him, both of them standing in front of you with only one thing on their mind. They stood in front of you, their faces puffy and eyes red— looking at you like they couldn’t bear you telling them no.

Your expression softened staring at them.

“Does your father know that either of you are here?”

Egg looked at Rhae and they shook their heads.

You walked over to the bed, picking Rhaenyra up— holding her in your arms.

Egg and Rhae mustered smiles as you knelt in front of them with Rhaenyra.

“She looks like me, Egg.” Rhae spoke with a giggle.

Rhaenyra walked to the center of the carpet and sat down, grabbing more of her toys from the basket.

You smiled at the sight of her, but your smile faded at the sound of sniffling. Egg stood in front of you, tears streaming down his pale cheeks and onto his neck.

“Oh, Egg.” You mumbled, walking over to him and giving him a hug.

Rhae sat on the carpet by Rhaenyra pulling out toys for her and Egg tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging to you as he sobbed— his tears wetting your gown.

Your heart broke for them, the loss of a parent was unlike any other kind. You rubbed his head, trying to comfort him as you held back tears yourself.

“I am so sorry about you losing your mother.” You muttered, trying to overcome the tears that wet your waterline.

Hearing his sobs shook you in a way that you hadn’t expected. He was such a joyous boy and now he clung to you, his world falling apart.

He pulled away from you, wiping his face. You knelt again, staring into his violet eyes.

“Do you need me to get your father?”

He shook his head, taking a deep breath— trying to calm down.

“I just want to spend time with you and my sister, if that is okay.”

You nodded with a teary eyed smile.

The servants brought food to your chambers at your request, you hoped to keep the children occupied and to provide any comfort that you could.

“Will father be okay?” Egg asked.

You looked up from the scroll that was on your desk, staring blankly.

“Only time will tell, but he is strong— as are you and your siblings. I think that with time all of you will be okay.”

Egg didn’t smile or anything, he just stared at you— his mind clearly at war with his feelings.

After a bit of playing and plenty of laughs from them as they were amused with Rhaenyra, Rhae gave you one of the books that you had. It was the book that you often read to Rhaenyra before bed.

“Can you read this to us?”

You were a bit shocked, but willing to if they genuinely wanted it.

“Do you really want me to read this?”

Rhae nodded, “please.”

You, Rhae, Egg, and Rhaenyra laid in your bed as you picked a chapter from the book to read. They wanted to hear the chapter that talked about the conquerors, which you obliged.

You read it to them, your voice animated— taking your time while they looked at the drawings on the pages.

That chapter had come to an end and all the children were asleep, you even found your eyelids feeling heavy. You fell asleep after fighting it for a few minutes.

The day was just barely in the afternoon and all of you were tired, completely worn thin.

You slept peacefully, completely losing track of time— but your door swung open.

“Have you seen—“

Maekar stopped in his tracks at the sight of you. You laid there in the bed, a book propped against your chest and the children sleep around you.

He had begun to panic when he was told that no one could locate them, but it was clear that they went where they thought best.

Maekar didn’t want to disturb you, so he sat on the window seat — watching as all of you slept. The sight of you and his children finding comfort in each other made him feel a small amount of ease, not because he’d depend on you— but because at least they weren’t entirely alone.

In some world this was the life for the two of you— multiple kids, no scandals, no grief, just the kids and bliss.

When you awoke, Rhae and Egg were gone. It didn’t worry you much as you figured that the servants had come to get them or they left on their own.

You slept good for the first time in a while, you slept and didn’t cry yourself to sleep beforehand.

Rhaenyra pulled your cheeks, “mama.”

You chuckled softly, a smile coming onto your face at the sight of her. Your precious daughter that mattered more than anything else in that world.

After a few minutes of laying in the bed, you prepared your chambers for the night and had dinner brought to your room for both of you.

The night had come quicker than you had expected, but even then the day still felt never ending.

You sat with Rhaenyra in one of your chairs, Greywind walking in your room behind a servant as they placed supper on the table.

The room was quiet with the exception of the fireplace and Rhaenyra humming as she ate her potatoes. It didn’t take long before she got fussy and didn’t want the rest, so you fed it to Greywind.

You took Rhaenyra to her own room and helped prepare her for bed. She kissed your cheek when you tried to lay her down in her bed, giggling when you kissed her cheek. She held your finger and fidgeted around in her bed— trying to fight her sleep, but you watched as her blinks lasted longer with each one. Within a few minutes she was sound asleep.

She looked so beautiful as she slept, her silver hair all over the place. In some lights, she looked exactly like Maekar and nothing like you.

While you sat there, you had a bath prepared for you in your chambers.

You thought about what Queen Myriah said, you thought about your own feelings, and Rhaenyra’s life.

Would you be cruel to keep Rhaenyra from them? Would she resent you or Lyonel? Would they resent you for it?

There was no perfect answer and that was what drove you mad, what made you feel hopeless— because no one knew what the outcome would be.

When you returned to your chambers, you were ready to relax in the bath and maybe have a nice cry alone.

Lyonel stood in your room, waiting for you.

You shut the door, a huff of air leaving your mouth.

“I did not expect you to be in here, I figured you would have run off after earlier.” You mumbled, walking towards your bed.

Lyonel looked down at his feet and back towards you.

“I must admit that was not my finest moment earlier. I am sorry.”

You pulled your boots off, listening to him while he spoke.

“It’s fine, Lyonel.”

He rubbed his beard, trying to find the right words.

“My love, I shouldn’t have been so crass earlier and I am truly sorry—“

“I should’ve been sympathetic.”

You walked towards him, placing your hands into his and staring into his eyes.

“I forgive you, my love.” You whispered, stepping even closer to him.

He loved when you called him that, but the way that you went about it was what turned him on most. How you stood in front of him, staring at him through your lashes — your voice laced with need.

Lyonel stepped closer, his body pressed against yours.

“Hmm.” He hummed.

His hand cupped your face, both of you lost in the moment and nothing else mattering.

“You look so beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but smile, glancing away from him.

“You’re just saying that, hoping that you’ll get your cock wet.” You teased.

He chuckled, his lips brushing against yours— his breath warming your skin.

“Even without fucking you, I am the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms. You are the love of my life, the woman I’d go to the ends of this world for.”

You pressed your lips against his, your fingers gripping his doublet.

He kissed you back, his arm wrapping around your waist.

You felt so good with him, yet your heart was conflicted— torn between two men.

“Can I share the bath with you?” He asked, pulling his lips away from yours.

You nodded.

The water steamed around the two of you as you sat down in the tub, you sat in between Lyonel’s legs with your back pressed against his chest.

“I dream of many nights like this with you.” Lyonel confessed.

You smiled, rubbing your finger against his thigh.

“You do?”

“How could I not? What man wouldn’t want to end his night with a fierce wife beside him.” He added.

Lyonel helped wash your back— telling you a story about how he’d met some large knight, who wasn’t really a knight a few moons back. A man named Ser Dunk, which sounded incredibly silly to you.

He cupped water onto your hair, a smile on his face.

“You laugh, but I’m serious. His name was Dunk and he was..”

“Something.” Lyonel trailed off.

“I imagine that he was, especially if he called himself Dunk.” You laughed again, the kind of laugh where tears welled in your eyes. The story sounded ridiculous, but Lyonel was serious.

After your bit of laughter that went on for what seemed forever, you rested your head against his chest.

You realized that you still hadn’t told him about what the king had requested of you.

“Lyonel.” You spoke.

He rubbed his hand against yours. “Yes, darling.”

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words and hoping that you wouldn't upset him.

“When Baelor asked to speak with me earlier, he brought me to the council room where Queen Myriah was also waiting.”

“The queen summoned you?” He asked.

“Something like that..”

“She and Baelor needed to speak with me about Rhaenyra.”

His hand stilled against yours, “what about her?”

“They want me to marry Maekar.” You hesitantly answered.

“Oh—“

“I see.” He muttered. You could hear the way that your words instantly affected him, how he seemed heartbroken already.

There was a silence, a silence that felt like the two of you were frozen for a beat. He didn’t say anything or move and neither did you.

“What did you say to that?” He questioned.

You turned in the tub, water splashing onto the stone. You faced Lyonel, staring into his eyes.

“I told them that I am to marry you.”

He nodded, his fingers resting on the edge of the tub.

“I take it that they did not like that revelation?”

You looked down at the water, looking at your reflection— your eyes watering again.

“What if they make me marry him? Force my hand?”

He stared at you, his own eyes watering.

“What is a man to do when he loses the love of his life to someone who is unworthy?”

You tilted your head slightly, a frown on your face.

“Lyonel..”

“Is what I speak not the truth?” He questioned.

You couldn’t bring your eyes to face him, it was like they were unable to in that moment— like you felt guilty to agree with him.

“You are.. magnificent in every way, that is the truth. You give me hope that there is more for me out there, that I can take a wife that I’m proud to have—“

“I know that you are torn and I’d be a fool to pretend that this isn’t the case, but I cannot compete with him.. not when you keep your heart closed to me.” He continued, the words leaving his mouth slowly as he knew that he might regret them.

Your eyes met his instantly.

“You don’t think that my heart is open to you? That I don’t love you?”

He sighed, trying to grab your hand.

“That is not what I meant.”

You pulled away, standing in the tub— the water falling from your body. Your bare skin exposed to Lyonel, disrupting any thoughts that he had only a moment ago.

The water splashed across the stone as you stepped out, grabbing your robe.

“I only meant that—“

“Save it, Lyonel.”

Lyonel stood in the tub, following you— completely bare while you prepared the bed.

“I did not mean to offend you, but it is obvious that you still care so deeply for him.”

You stopped what you were doing, facing Lyonel and keeping your eyes on his face.

“I am to marry you, Lyonel. I figured that it was clear that you were who I chose? That you were who I wanted?”

“Am I what you want? or do I simply provide you a means to run away and prevent the evident temptation that brews between the two of you?” He pried.

Your mouth fell open slightly, your eyes widening with disbelief.

“I.. cannot believe that you just said that, that you’d even think that of me— that you think I’m merely only using you.”

The regret on his face was instantaneous.

“I should not have said that, I did not.. I didn’t mean it.”

You bit your tongue and kept from expressing the true thoughts that came across your mind.

“It is a shame that you think so lowly of me, Lyonel. I welcomed you into my life, my daughter's life, and talked to you about a future. Maekar returning wasn’t even on our minds, it has always been real with you.”

His mouth opened and closed, his heart racing fast.

“But he did.. he did return. He returned and you still can’t admit that you’re done with him, can you?—“

“Were to be wed, but the thought of him still sends shivers down your spine! You also fucked him since he’s been back!” His voice raised.

You gasped, being completely taken by surprise at him saying that.

“My Love.. I am not upset over that—“ he stammered, wiping his face.

“You clearly have drunk too much.” You scoffed.

Your ears felt warm to the touch as Lyonel continued to speak, your heart in your throat. You stared at him blankly, stumped on what to say.

“I shall bid you goodnight. I am quite tired.” You mumbled, pulling the cover back on your bed.

“I don’t want to end our night on a sour note.” He replied.

You scoffed, “you should’ve thought about that.”

Lyonel put his clothes on and exited your chambers, a lingering silence in the air. A distance between the two of you that didn’t exist beforehand now consumed the room.

Your relationship with Lyonel was quite simple and different in some ways, but that’s what made it work so well. He accepted you and you accepted him.

The two of you never argued or yelled at one another, not really— but that night you did. Something in your relationship snapped, something that you had no control over. You just knew that maybe he needed space and maybe you did too, from both of them.

The passing of Dyanna had everyone feeling off, it changed everything. Even in the days after, you had still avoided Maekar. There was nothing you could say to make anything easier and it’d probably only continue to get complicated. He needed plenty of things, but condolences on his wife from you was not one of them.

Maekar looked for you, but he found it painfully clear that you were avoiding him and did not wish to speak.

It was finally the day of Dyanna’s funeral.

You stood outside in your black gown, holding Rhaenyra— amongst the royal family, your family, Lyonel, and other noblemen. All of you gathered outside to join the royal family in their mourning.

Vermithor stood near the pyre where she laid, a loud roar leaving him as he moved closer.

Maekar stood close to the pyre, looking like a man that had been cut in half— a man that was lost at sea. You doubted that it was just grief that troubled him, maybe it was everything all at once.

Lyonel stared at you from afar, an apology on his mind and lips— but paralyzed with guilt.

You adjusted Rhaenyra on your hip, watching as Vermithor burned Dyanna on the pyre in front of him— the sounds of the fire cackling and the smell of burning flesh seared into your mind.

After the funeral, you handed Rhaenyra off for a nap and retreated into your chambers. You took off your boots and began to unlace your gown when there was a faint knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Maekar opened the door and walked inside, shutting it behind him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He spoke, not completely accusing you— but leaving no room for you to say otherwise.

Your fingers stilled against your laces.

“I decided to let you be.”

“Who told you that I wanted that?”

You turned your head at an angle, the crack of light just barely catching his scarred face.

“No one told me, it is what I know. Dyanna just died and it would be improper for me to come to you.”

His eyebrows raised with a scoff, “improper is it?”

You rolled your eyes, untying the rest of the laces to your gown as he walked towards the window.

“Don’t start, please.”

“No one ever tells you what to expect when a wife dies.. how you might feel or how you might move on later—“

“They tell you nothing about it, even when it’s a common occurrence.” He trailed off.

You pulled off your gown, standing in your shift and gently folding it.

“You are strong, you will recover and so will your children.”

He pushed the shutter open further, glancing out.

“My children..” he started and then stopped.

You placed your folded gown on your desk and took a seat in the chair, your shift just barely hiding your figure— not that it mattered much.

“What about them?” You followed up.

He hesitated, like he was afraid to finish his sentence.

“Nothing.” He grumbled.

“I saw that my youngest son and daughter came to visit you.”

You sat back in your seat, pulling the pins from your hair. “Aye, they did.”

He turned from the window, his focus and saddened eyes fully on you.

“Why did they come to you? Were they okay?”

You glanced at him and placed one of the pins on the desk.

“They were fine.. they wanted to meet Rhaenyra.”

“And how did that go?” He questioned.

You pulled out the last pin, running your fingers along your scalp to ease the tension that you had felt all morning.

“Unlike most adults, children are not inherently cruel. They were just excited to have a sister and to take their minds from their mothers passing.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering at his feet.

“That’s.. good.”

He walked over to the desk, standing in front of it and you. He had that look on his face, the look that you knew all too well.

“Do you still intend to marry Lyonel?”

You chuckled as if a joke had been told, maybe one had— one that not even he could understand.

“I do. I intend to marry Lyonel and get away from this place, away from your family.. away from you.” You finally admitted.

He looked like you had struck him with an arrow, like you had torn a string that was within his heart— like you truly meant those words.

When you saw his reaction, your face dropped— not in horror or fear, but sadness. As harsh as your words may have been, they were true— you wanted to be away from it all.

“Don’t turn your back on me.” He muttered.

“I should’ve saved myself the heartache and did exactly that moons ago.” You argued.

“Queen Myriah and Baelor asked me to marry you.. for the goodness of the realm I suppose.” You confessed.

His brows furrowed, the scars of his face deepening.

“They did what?”

“They said that it was necessary for you, for Rhaenyra—“

“They didn’t tell you?” You asked.

“No, I was not informed that my mother and brother asked you to marry me immediately after Dyanna died.”

You didn’t respond, because in this instance you didn’t know how to.

“Please, do not marry Lyonel.” He pleaded, his eyes looking at the desk in front of him.

“I will.” You replied plainly.

He looked at you as if you had betrayed him, his eyes glassy.

“Why?—“

“I am right here.. asking you not to.”

You stood from your chair, your footsteps slow and methodical as you walked over to him.

“You are here now, but there were many nights where you weren’t.. where I was alone.”

“But, you’re not alone now.” He added.

“It’s too late.”

He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his chest — his glassy eyes staring into yours. His gaze felt as if you were being sucked into his tide again, unable to escape the way that the water would feel against your skin— the way that you wanted to welcome it.

“I cannot fix the past, but I can promise that I’d never leave your side again—“

“Only in death and then I’d still wait for you, if the gods let me.”

You pulled away, a tear streaming down your cheek— your lip beginning to quiver.

“It is far too late, Maekar!—“

“I chose you the first time around and you didn’t choose me. You could’ve been a selfish prince and chose me, but you didn’t.”

He wiped the tears that fell down his own reddened cheeks.

“I thought of you everyday, regretted my choice everyday.”

“Regretted it so much that you fucked six children into her?” You swore.

He began to frown, biting his lip to keep from getting angry at your words.

“That’s not fair..”

“What’s not fair is loving someone so much that you wanted to die when they broke your heart. What’s not fair is having to watch them get the life that the two of you romanticized.”

“What’s not fair is that despite everything, I wasn’t enough for you to choose me first.” You sputtered.

His hardened facial expression softened, his expression reminding you of how he looked at you years ago.

“I cannot—“

“You are correct, you cannot! I do not wish to do this with you anymore, Maekar.”

“I am asking for us to do it right this time.” He corrected you.

You began to sob, turning away from him— your hand covering your mouth to muffle it. Maekar stood and watched, knowing that there were no words that could undo that damage he caused.

You grabbed your gown and swiftly put it back on.

“We were so close.. so fucking close, Maekar.” You mumbled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

“I know.” He replied.

You turned back around. “I choose Lyonel this time, I choose him because I have a choice—“

“Because he chose me and Rhaenyra first.”

Maekar stepped closer to you, his chest pressed against yours.

“Tell me that you do not love me anymore.”

Your brows furrowed, head tilting.

“It was never about me not loving you, it was the fact that I do love you— that was the problem.”

He pressed his lips against yours and you slightly kissed him back, but you pulled away.

“I have spent far too much time dwelling on the past with you, I won’t continue this—“

“Don’t you see it? See that everything around us and our relationship is a tragedy?”

He winced at your words and their finality, watching as you slowly stepped away from him and made your way to the door— opening it and leaving him standing there.

He had lost you and he’d lose the daughter that the two of you shared, a loss that would make him crumble.

You left Maekar standing in your chambers, but when you left you didn’t feel happy or even content. It felt like there was a weight on your chest, a pressure that no herb could heal.

He was the relentless and unstoppable pain that coursed your body, the wound that was etched onto your heart.

Despite the history between the two of you, you wanted to choose something special— a person that made you want to dance, a person that made you laugh, a person that loved even the ugliest parts of you.

You walked the hall, nodding with still wet eyelashes as the staff spoke to you.

You took your time walking, trying to gather your thoughts and hopefully put everything properly into words. You stopped in front of the heavy double doors, giving a gentle knock.

“Enter.”

When you entered the room, your father and brother were in the middle of a conversation.

“Oh, I did not realize that you were in the middle of something. I can come back .”

“No, I’m glad that you are here. I must speak with you.” You father mentioned.

Your brother stared at you, an unpleasant stare like he’s cross with you.

“What is the matter?”

“I have been told that you refused the request of the royal family.” He replied.

Your brows raised and then furrowed.

“The request to marry Maekar?—“

“Yes, I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“I do not want to, I want to marry Lyonel.” You mumbled, your fingers clasped in front of you.

“Are you fucking serious?—“

“This is downright embarrassing for the family. You get to finally marry the man that you’ve been whoring with and you say no?” Your brother snapped.

“Excuse me?” You fumed, your shoulders pulled back.

“Son, walk that back. You apologize to your sister this instant, I will not have this.” Your father demanded.

Your brother sighed.

“You are spoiled and the only thing that saves you from a harsher fate is because King Daeron does not wish to have you suffer! You parade around your—“

“My what?—“

“Say it brother.” You challenged.

“You parade around your bastard and everyone turns a blind eye to it, everyone has to act like this is normal—“

You walk over in two strides and slapped him across the face with all your might.

“She is your niece! My child!—“

“and I may not be perfect, but she will not be talked about like that by you.”

“Enough!” Your father spat, slapping his hand on his desk.

“This family doesn’t treat each other this way and I won’t tolerate it.”

Your brother's face was red like a tomato, his hand rubbing against his cheek.

“Father, I—“

“A request from your king is not something that should ever be taken lightly. He has good reason to want you to marry Maekar.” He interrupted.

You shook your head, twisting your fingers.

“I understand and I know what I am asking of you, father. I just ask that you support my decision.. my decision to marry for love.”

Your father and brother shared a look.

“This is—“

“Please, I do not want to lose him.” You begged, your eyes watering.

Your father looked at you, the look that he always gave you when he felt as if he couldn’t deny you.

“What of my granddaughter? What of her not being around her family?”

“We are her family, Lyonel is her family—“

“He loves her like she is his own, she loves him. He has never looked at her differently or made comments about her parentage, do you think that family will be the same?”

“Aerion knew of her for only a few hours and was already making comments.. and he’s her brother.”

Your brother's eyes flickered over to you, noticing your eyes— how you genuinely seemed fearful that he wouldn’t support you.

“I will talk to King Daeron. Perhaps, we can have it arranged to be sooner rather than later— putting this entire matter to rest. I will support your decision to marry Lord Baratheon, only because I know that you love him.”

There was a sigh of relief that escaped your chest, you walked over to your father— wrapping your hands around him to give you a hug.

“Thank you so much, father. I truly cannot thank you enough.”

He gave your arm a quick pat.

“Anything for you.”

You quickly left the room and walked with a purpose to Lyonel’s chambers.

When you reached Lyonel’s chambers you barely knocked before entering, surprising him as he paced around the room.

“My love?”

You shut the door behind you with a loud thud, walking to where Lyonel stood.

You grabbed his hands, holding them in yours.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

He looked at you with some confusion, he couldn’t tell if you were upset or if something had happened.

“I don’t want to fight with you either. I take no pleasure in it.”

“Is something wrong, darling?” He questioned.

You shook your head with a small laugh. “No.”

“I told Maekar.. I told him that I choose you.”

The look on Lyonel’s face was different from any of the other expressions that you see, it was as if multiple emotions were hitting him at once.

“You did?” He asked, his brow raised.

“Aye.” You smiled, your eyes filled with tears.

“I just.. I cannot lose you. I want to be selfish with you, I want Rhaenyra to grow up with you as a father.. I want to live a life with you.” You confessed.

Lyonel grabbed your cheeks and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

“Loving the two of you is the best choice that I’ve ever made.”

You pulled away, breaking the moment of passion.

“I want you to be sure about this, my father said he’d talk to the king—“

“You will never have to ask if I’m sure about this, what could be better than living in Storm's End with my girls?”

You stared at him for a moment, your chest rising and falling fast— his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry about before, I shouldn’t have been rude.” He admitted.

You shook your head.

“I don’t want to worry about what happened before. It’s just me and you. I forgive you.”

You pressed your lips back into his, your tongue pushing past his teeth.

“Hmm.” He groaned.

“Fuck me, Lyonel—“

“Right now.” You breathed, already reaching for your laces.

Lyonel wrapped his arm around your waist, lifting you off your feet and carrying you to his bed.

“No need to pull all of that off.” He smiled, laying you down gently on the bed.

You pulled up your gown as he unlaced his trousers with complete precision.

The cool air pressed against your exposed skin while you watched Lyonel’s cock spring free, the veins lining it prominent in the light.

Lyonel came between your legs, his lips meeting yours as he teased your entrance— making you whine.

“Please.” You rasped.

He chuckled, “please what?”

You rolled your eyes, a gasp suddenly leaving your mouth as he thrusted inside you.

“Hmm, you feel so good.” He whispered.

He pushed your legs up further, pushing them back as far as they go— watching his cock slide in and out of you.

“Fuck—“

“You’re so deep.” You whimpered.

“Yeah?—“

“I’m so deep inside that pretty cunt of yours, darling. It’s so tight and wet, just for me.” He grunted, his rings pressed into your thigh.

Watching his cock snap in and out of you almost made him finish quicker than he intended.

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue gliding against yours as he claimed your mouth.

“I love you.. I love you so much.” You moaned.

He kissed the side of your face, his warm breath mingling against your skin.

“Love is not a strong enough word for how I feel about you.”

“Gods, I am not going to last long this time.” He moaned.

Your mouth widened, your toes curled as you unexpectedly reached your peak— your cunt gripping his cock intensely.

“Already?—“

“So needy.” He teased.

His grip on your legs tightened, his thrusts got messier and faster— his breaths ragged.

“Gods.”

“I want you to finish inside me.” You begged, staring at him through your lashes.

He glanced at you, his words caught in his mouth— unable to think past the feeling of fucking you.

“How can I say no to you when you’re looking at me like that? Hmm?”

He thrusted into you three more times, a deep groan escaping his throat as his seed spilled inside you.

Once he came, he fucked his seed deep inside you— riding out the high.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, his hands finally leaving your legs— an indent from his rings on them.

“I love you, darling.” He grinned.

You smirked, “I love you too.”

Once he pulled out, the two of you laid on his bed for a bit— laughing and enjoying the moment between the two of you.

“I will talk to my father, but once the wedding happens I want to leave for Storms End. I don’t think me not being present will be an issue.”

He pushed a stray hair from your face, looking at you like you were a perfect statue.

“You’re ready to leave?”

You nodded, rubbing your fingers against his.

“More than ready.”

“I’m going to freshen up, would you like to join me on a walk outside here shortly?”

His tongue swiped his bottom lip, “of course.”

You went to your chambers and freshened up, the smile on your face unable to leave.

At first you were worried about things between you and Lyonel, worried about Maekar— worried about everything but what you truly wanted. You’d allowed yourself to be blinded, but realizing that Dyanna died and just understanding how precious moments are— you didn’t want to waste any more time.

You met Lyonel outside, the two of you holding hands— your boots crunching against the snow.

“I can’t believe I’m going to leave this.”‘ You mentioned.

He glanced around at all the snow and ice coating everything, then back at you— his eyes fixated on the small snowflakes in your hair.

“Take it in, Storm’s End is nowhere as pretty as this.”

You chuckled, “I might grow to love it.”

“Doubtful.” He argued.

“I cannot wait to make you mine, shout to everyone about my lovely wife..” He added.

Your heart jumped in your chest listening to him talk about you in that manner, the way that he loves you so deeply and effortlessly— a love that you never thought you’d experience.

The snow continued to come down, a bit heavier than you had anticipated— but nothing that would deter your walk with Lyonel.

The words that you wanted to say were hung in your mouth when you heard commotion and the horn.

You looked at Lyonel, listening to the noise— but confused.

The horn blew once, then twice, then a third time.

People in the area began to run in various directions, “Three times is for… wildlings.”

All of sudden you winced and felt a sharp sting against your body, heat radiating through you.

You let go of Lyonel’s hand, touching your body— only to see blood on the glove when you pulled it back.

“Wildlings!” A man yelled.

It was as if everything was in a haze, figures moved through the snow and you could hear swords clashing.

Your eyes slowly looked at Lyonel who stood in front of you, “My love.” He mumbled.

Two arrows sticking out of him as he collapsed into the snow.

You tried to take a step, but your legs wobbled— feeling like sand.

You fell into the snow beside Lyonel, hearing dragons roar in the distance and everything fading away.

“Lady Stark!” A voice yelled.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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  His boots’ noises grow louder as he walks into the royal wing of the Keep, finally finding some solace in the silent halls. He can even hear his own breathing while he counts his steps.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  He hears the click of a heel ruining his counting; his head whips to the sound, trying to find the person responsible for bothering his peace, but he is met only by the soft ‘whoosh’ that is barely heard in the hallway.

  He shakes his head again, thinking nothing of it before he resumes the path he was taking. Sighing, he looks around the place; the candelights are brightening the hallways enough but not too much, moonlight seeps through the cracks, and suddenly he aches for a breath of fresh air.

  He strides toward the balcony — his unnamed balcony — counting his steps again. Five, six, seven, eight. And he stops for a second when he sees the bottom of a skirt sliding against the floor before it disappears in the direction of his destination.

  Curious and cautious, Baelor walks more slowly this time, trying not to make any other sounds that could frighten the person — a woman, he assumes — and lose the chance to talk to someone who is also seeking a quieter spot.

  Nine, ten.

  He freezes. 

  Wow. 

  Beautiful is the first word that comes to his mind as his widened eyes take in the way this woman is staring up into the stars with a content look on her face. No smiles, no, but he can sense the peace and ease in her eyebrows.

  He can’t even see her full face, yet he can read her like an open book.

  He is staring, he realizes, he is staring shamefully at a woman who is so unbelievably pretty in a way that steals the air from his lungs. He watches with a heaving chest as the silver moonlight spills over her hair like a shading in one of the paintings hanging in the painting room of the castle. She is perfect.

  There is a sadness to her, he assumes, a pain that lingers in the twitch of her mouth when she notices a shooting star in the pitch-black night. It isn’t even a true smile, but it is more than he could ever ask for.

  “My lady?”

  She gasps softly, turning around with her lips parted and her hand clutching her necklace in surprise. She seems frightened, her chest heaving with each exhale as she stares at him like a deer caught by the hunter with an arrow ready to be shot.

  She seems frightened, Baelor thinks, so he takes a step back and bows his head, his hands clasped behind him. He has a soft expression, a small smile on his lips as he tries to lighten the moment, even for a small moment.

  “I apologize, I did not mean to startle you–”

  “Pardon me, your grace,” she falls into a deep courtesy, her fingers threaded in front of her dress — a black long-sleeved gown adorned by black lace at the neckline, and a very beautiful corset that tantalizingly hugs her bosom — but he is not looking. He is not looking.

  “No need,” he shakes his head softly, his fingers itching to grab her arm and help her straighten her back, “Rise, please. We are not at court; it is not needed for you to be this polite.”

  “You are a Targaryen prince, your grace. Court or not, I shall always respect you,” she replies softly, standing back to her height again, looking at him with a nervous yet curious gaze, “I am deeply sorry for wandering in the castle. I was becoming restless at the feast.”

  “As I said, no need for apologies,” he walks on the balcony, three steps until he is standing side by side with her, “That we have in common. The celebrations can get too intense at times. That is why I am also wandering about. This part of the castle grows quiet at night.”

  “Yes, it seems it does,” she agrees, her eyebrows moving down a little at a thought, “But are you not required to be in the Tower of the Hand?”

  “Ah, yes, true, I spend most of my nights there,” he nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his posture straightening for reasons unknown as he looks at you with tender eyes, “Though I still own my previous chambers in this part of the castle.”

  “The sky must be beautiful from the tower,” she sighs a little dreamily, looking between him and the stars until her stare locks with a flickering star in the pitch-black night, the reflection of it shining on her irises. “Does it not get lonely there?”

  So she is not frightened, he thinks and sighs in relief, letting out a relaxed chuckle as he takes another step closer to look at the gardens from atop the railings.

  “It is hard to sense loneliness when you have many parchments to fill with words.” He looks up at the sky, keeping one hand behind his back whilst the other moves to the railings in front of him, “Being the Hand of the King has its advantages, though you have to pay the price of the power with sleepless nights.”

  “It must be rewarding,” she sighs quietly, glancing at him before looking down at her shoes, “To have everything you could ask for, without even asking; security, respect, peace.”

  “The Targaryen name alone ensures you are never truly safe, My lady. Prince or not, even a bastard with silver hair will never see peace.” He explains, “Many lords wish me death. They might bow, they might smile, they might bring me gifts as a gesture of gratitude, but they stand with a dagger at my back. It does not matter how deep their courtesy is; they will always believe a Targaryen born means madness and unruly chaos for the realm.”

  “But you are not chaos, are you, My prince?” Her tone is as soft as a feather, a ghost of a smile on her features as she watches him, “From what I have heard, you are the calmness that holds the pieces of the Keep together.”

  “I am not as you see me,” he takes a step closer, and he notices the way her breath hitches in her throat, “I am a man before anything else, I have urges and needs. I am ambitious, even though I am told to be the most levelheaded brother,” he gazes down at her, the way her eyelashes crul in the end, “And you, My lady? Who are you?”

  “That… is a mystery for another day,” she bends her knees in a quick courtesy, grabbing the skirt of her gown in her hands before she walks past him, “Have a nice night, your grace.”

  “Goodnight, my lady,” he smiles and watches her leave, his heart beating like a bird, hard and fast and breathtaking. Who is she? 

  With a sigh, he looks back up at the sky, looking for the star she was gazing at earlier, wishing it were his reflection in her eyes instead.

Day two

  “Lady Tyrell?”

  You groan at the sound, already done with the day before it had even begun. Rolling to your back on the bed, you sigh loudly, looking at the ceiling and blinking rapidly to wipe the exhaustion off your face.

  “May we come in–”

“Mama?”

  “Ah, I was wondering where she was,” you whisper and sit up against the headboard with a yawn, the tiredness of yesterday’s feast already drying out your bones. You fear what the rest of the celebrations will do to you. 

  It is not only the feast to be blamed for your exhaustion; your late-night rendezvous is also one of the reasons you are the way you are. You did not mean to slip away, truly, you needed a second to breathe, and got lost in the castle. It was your luck that led you to that balcony, as if the stars were calling your name, as if the pull between you and the Heir had brought you together.

  He was strikingly handsome; tall, yet he used his height to bring safety and not to corner you, mismatched eyes that glimmered under the moonlight — one a very unique shade of blue that was nearly violet, and one a chocolate brown color that reminded you of his Dornish heritage. The beard on his jaw and cheeks made him soft yet authoritative.

  You have never met a man who has made your heart beat this fast. Not even your late lord husband.

  You pull your hair over one shoulder, the soft sleeves of your night shift bringing your attention back to the world surrounding you. With a quiet and resigned exhale, you speak up.

  “Come in.”

  The world is pushed open gently, your chambermaid walking in hand in hand with your daughter, peeking inside the room before she guides the little girl to you.

  “Mama! They have sea!” Little Margery exclaims with a delighted smile, rushing out of the maid’s grasp before running for the bed and crawling on the mattress with a little struggle, huffing and puffing until she is situated under the blankets with her head on your chest, blinking her doe eyes up at you, “It is so blue!”

  “It is the Blackwater Bay, sweet girl,” you kiss her forehead, wrapping your arms around her body tightly as you acknowledge your chambermaid, “Good morrow, Celeste. I apologize, she must have dragged you out of the room at dawn.”

  “It is no problem, Milady! She is the sweetest. I am glad to be of service.” She smiles at the two of you, waiting for a heartbeat before she speaks up again, “What would you like to wear today, Milady? There is to be a hunt for the White Stag in the King’s woods in honor of Lady Kiera.”

  “A hunt–”

  “With a blade?” Margery looks up at you curiously, yet you can see the sadness creeping into her eyes, “Will they hurt the animal?”

  “No, sweetness, the Stag will feel no pain,” you smooth her auburn curly hair out of her face with a gentle caress, tucking a few strands behind her ear, “And you would find great friends there! There must be a tent for the kids, am I correct, Celeste?”

  “Yes, Milady! Little lords and ladies do have their own tent for the hunt! A safe and happy place for Lady Margery, I am sure.”

  “See? All will be well, and we shall have an excellent meal with the rest of the court,” you peck her small nose, pushing the covers off both of you to slowly wiggle out of the bed with her clinging to your chest, small arms wrapped tightly around your neck, “And if anything happens, send word for me, and I will come to you.”

  “Will you really?” She asks, her legs tightening around your waist as you walk with her through your room until Celeste helps you wash your face in the basin in the corner while you hold her up with one arm, drying your face as you walk to your mirror and sit in front of it with Margery on your lap.

  “Of course! Tell Celeste, and I will run to you without a second thought,” you watch as your maid stands behind you, untangling your hair out of your breath, reaching for the brush to gently comb through your strands, bringing oil out to shape the curls with her fingers. You return to your daughter, tipping her chin up, “What do you wish to do with your hair, sweet girl?”

  She thinks for a heartbeat, Aubrun's eyebrows frowning in concentration, before she gasps, “Pearls! I want it the way Grandma used to do it!”

  “I’m sure Celeste can think of something appropriate for today,” you kiss her head, chuckling when she reaches for the box of your hairpieces, waiting patiently for her turn while she observes every pin between her small fingers.

  Your morning goes by in a blink of an eye as you break your fast with Margery and help her get dressed for the day without her causing any trouble. The silence of the room was calming at some point when the little girl fell asleep in your arms as Celeste braided your hair in the fashion of King’s Landing.

  You manage to finally walk out of your chambers, hand in hand with your daughter, as she gawks at the tapestries and the King’s Guards’ shiny helmets. She is a joyful soul, wanting to explore the world around her, talking about everything and nothing until she has tired herself out, having the mischievous glint her Lady grandmother has, the same one her father had.

  Your gown is simple: a black gown with long sleeves and a neckline that even covers your collarbone. There had been designs sewn in green under your bosom and corset, fading into the black as it reached the end of your skirt. Elegant and fitted for a freshly turned widow. Respectful enough to keep the court silent.

  Your beautiful daughter, on the contrary, decided to go with the brightest orange ever seen among the seamstresses, with a long, flowy skirt that bounces with every step she takes. 

  She is so happy, with how she is swinging your hand and jogging next to you as you make your way towards the yard to get inside your carriage and start your short journey to the King’s Woods. 

  “Are you hungry, sweetness? We could ask Celeste to bring you some for the road,” you ask her, bending your knees a little to make sure she looks you in the eyes, “Because if we leave, we would not be able to eat anything till we reach the tents.”

  “I do not think I’m hungry, Mama… but maybe I am?” She is confused due to the fact that every time she is famished, her stomach growls. But now, it does not make any sounds that could potentially alert her, “Maybe an apple for the road?”

  “That sounds amazing,” you smile at her and wait for both your chambermaid and carriage to arrive, watching your daughter rock back and forth on the balls of her feet impatiently, glancing around the yard and the castle with a bit of remorse.

  “Our home is prettier,” she whispers, “But I love it here too! Maybe you would marry a prince, and we would stay!”

  “Shh,” your eyes widen, heart pounding in your chest as an image of a certain prince passes by your vieoon for a second before you crouch down next to her and make sure she is looking you in the eye, “We were invited because of your uncle, we came as Tyrells, besides, sweetness, no prince will like me nor it is appropriate to speculate about such things.”

  “Why not?” She pouts when you pinch her cheek, crossing her small arms over her chest, “I would like to stay here! I love the castle! Please–”

  “I, too, love this place, but it is for the royal family and the people of the court; we are not a part of either of them, my love.” You pull on her fingers until she is holding your hand again, watching as your carriage approaches you, the horse stomping its feet on the ground as it stops in front of you, “Let us go and enjoy the hunt!”

  ****

  To say the lady he met the other night has not been consuming every one of his thoughts would be a lie. And he, Baelor Targaryen, does not lie. He might not say the truth out loud, but he does not twist it and utter words that are a lie.

  He has been thinking, and thinking, and thinking about her. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her face, the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the way her skin glistens under the moonlight, the reflection of the black sky in her orbs. She is all he can see, all he can hear; she has become the only thing Baelor can focus on.

  He focuses on the way wind rustles the leaves of the King’s Woods. The noises of the knights and lords who are drinking and laughing while the maids and servants put up the tents and prepare the fire for the night. And yet, no sign of the mysterious beauty he saw last night.

  Baelor Targaryen is a humble man, confident and kind, ruthless when he ought to be. But his heart has not yet slowed down from his encounter with her, and it truly makes him dizzy, so he decides to help without a care about what his lords might think about him.

  He approaches the young man who is trying his best by carrying a huge wooden box, undoubtedly holding the possessions of his good daughter, Kiera. He truly wishes to help, really hopes he can pick up a thing or two to busy his unsettled mind and ease the pain of a few of his people, but it seems as soon as he starts walking towards the boy, he is causing a lot of problems.

  “My prince!” The boy gasps, dropping the entirety of the wooden box on the mud as he bends down on the low bow, his hands shaking as he waits for Baelor to respond.

  With a long defeated sigh, Baelor smiles and asks the boy to rise, knowing he has caused more trouble than helping anyone, totally the opposite of what he had in mind. 

  “I apologize, it seems I have done nothing but cause unease today,” He smiles down at the boy, reaching to pat his head before he steps back a little, “Make sure you tell the others to clean this up. Lady Kiera won’t be pleased to see dirt on her belongings.”

  “Yes, my prince! At once!” 

  He watches the boy bend down quickly, picking up the box with a groan, before he bows his head at Baelor and dashes toward where Lady Kiera’s tent is awaiting her arrival.

  “Well done,” he shakes his head at his mistreatment of the boy, sighing and puffing out air as he strides across the field, watching everyone closely as some of them hammer the nails into the ground while the others fill the glasses with rich Dornish wine. 

  He stumbles across a large table, covered with different plates: goose, meat, lemon cakes, tarts, and even duck with lots of different little side dishes that will most likely be ravaged by the lords. 

  As soon as he reaches for a tapestry that has caught his eye, a hand comes down for the same dessert he is reaching for. He chuckles before looking up at the person, his laughter dying in his throat as he finds her in front of him.

  She looks equally shocked, her eyes wide and lips parted in surprise as she takes in his features, her gaze landing on his mismatched eyes before she remembers who he is and drops into a courtesy.

  He is quick to reach for her elbow, not letting her bend her knees for him, shaking his head softly and smiling at her gently, “No need, my lady.”

  “Your grace,” he grins at her, his fingers twitching over her covered skin, the heat radiating from her body making him dizzy. You nod and stand next to him with ease after you slowly pull your arm away, looking down at your shoes in embarrassment when he clears his throat and withdraws his touch, straightening his back with his hand behind him. “Good morrow.”

  “Good morrow, my lady. I hope you had a good night,” he says quietly, his eyes memorizing every detail as he watches her closely, “I didn’t get your name before.”

  “And I said that mystery is the only way to survive the court,” she shrugs, a ghost of a smile making its way to her lips, and he feels as his own cheeks pull in a smile as well, “How else am I supposed to keep running into His Grace if he knows who I am?”

  “You would not need to run into me,” he confesses quietly, the words hanging between the two of them, “I would seek you out myself.”

  He hears the small breath falling from her mouth, her hands stopping the fidgeting before she licks her lips and regains her composure. She looks down at the pastries, “Now you have to seek me out more, because you do not know me.”

  “How so?” He steps a tiny bit closer, reaching for the dessert he was looking for before, gazing back at her softly, “You wish for me to run after you?”

  “Maybe,” she breathes out, blinking at him from beneath her eyelashes, “but you would be too busy with the realm’s demands to notice me. And that would be upsetting.”

  “For whom?” He asks, holding up the pastry for her to take, watching as she gently replaces his fingers with hers, their skin brushing against each other, and Baelor has to flex his other hand as the shockwaves rock through his body, “You, my lady?”

  “Hmm,” she brings the dessert up, taking a gentle bite from it, licking her lips as the powdered sugar sticks to her lips, his eyes are immediately drawn to them, and he is sure she is noticing the way his kind eyes are growing darker, “Perhaps. But a prince would never bother with a widowed lady.”

  “You are too beautiful to be a widow, my lady.” his fingers are twitching behind his back as he tries to hold himself from reaching to swipe his thumb over her lips, “Young and beautiful, it is a shame you are wearing black.”

  “It is expected of me, your grace,” she shrugs slightly, finishing the pastry with a soft expression before she reaches for another one, this time, handing it to him, “You did not get to taste the sweetness of this one, my prince.”

  “Is it good?”

  “It was baked by the castle’s best maids, I can only assume this has to be the most delicious pastry one could ever taste,” she says, and for the first time, she smiles at him even with the ever present sadness in her eyes, and his heart leaps into his throat, “I can only imagine his grace, the king, hires the most talented for his kitchens.”

  “Yes, he is very fond of his desserts,” he chuckles, dragging his ringed fingers from her waist up to her knuckles until the pastry is in his palm, the corner of his eyes crinkling with ease, bringing it to his mouth and taking a big bite from it. “Mhmm…”

  “How is it?” She asks with a soft tone, her eyes twinkling, “It seems your Grace hasn’t had one in so long.”

  “I stick to my Dornish wine and salty cheese,” he replies, licking the tip of his fingers with his gaze locked on your face, “Desserts are always present because of our Lord Father, but I am too busy to stay for it. The realm never waits.”

  “Ah, that explains your reaction then, Prince Baelor,” he smiles at the way his name sounds on her tongue, “Hopefully you will not be too busy for the hunt.”

  “I sure hope not–”

  “Lady Tyrell!”

  She turns around toward the sound, watching as — assuring — her maid running to where they are standing, panting with a pitiful yet terrified look on her face.

  “What is it?” His companion asks, taking a step closer to the maid, her brows weaving into a frown, her fingers clasped in front of her, “What’s happened?”

  “Margery, she fell–”

  “Excuse me, my prince,” she — you, he knows who his mysterious woman is now — does a quick bow before turning toward the maid, “Lead the way.”

  He sends you away with a quick nod, his own eyes wide and curious as you grab your skirts in your hands and walk with haste, letting your maid lead you to Margery, whoever she might be.

  ****

  “We seem to run into each other every hour and then,” you reach him, Baelor Targaryen, near the huge bonfire, throwing the end of your shawl on your shoulder as you approach him slowly, a goblet of wine in your hand.

  He turns around at the sound of your voice, his eyes softening at your familiar face while he raises his chin to look at you. “It seems so, my lady. I see you are out again under the sky.”

  “What can I say, I love the stars,” she replies, standing shoulder to shoulder with him as they both look at the edge of the flames soaring into the midnight sky, “It is too beautiful to miss, especially when the city is far away. There is no unnecessary noise, only calmness and peace.”

  “It is a hunt, my lady,” he says, taking a sip of his drink while his gaze turns from the fire to your face, taking in the way the flames shine in your eyes and lighten up your skin, “This must be the only peaceful thing about it.”

  “Will you be the one to push the lance into the white stag’s heart?” You blink at the fire, sighing when he does not respond immediately, “I am of a softer nature. I despise violence, but I know it is the way the world goes day by day.”

  “What would you wish me to do then, Lady Tyrell?” His voice is soft, his eyes even softer as he looks at you fully, watching you closely as you frown a little, even biting your cheek, and he is delighted to notice those small movements.

  “Nothing, your grace, I…” you shake your head, a small chuckle leaving your mouth before you find the courage to look him in his very breathtaking eyes, “I spoke things that were irrelevant to our conversation–”

  “No, please, I have only learned of your identity for a few hours, my lady. I do wish to know more about you,” he watches you swallow your wine, not breaking eye contact as you bring the goblet to your lips, “Tell me about your life.”

  “I am from the Reach,” you start, tightening your shawl around your shoulders as a cold breeze hits your body, “A Hightower, to be exact. I grew up with four brothers. I was taught how to use a crossbow, how to wield a sword, and to mount a stallion. That is why I detest violence.”

  “What is it that you like to do?” He points to the chairs scattered around the bonfire near his tents, where he was sitting an hour ago with Valarr and Kiera, “Please, take a seat. I would hate myself for a lifetime if I were the reason your feet ache the next morrow.”

  “Thank you, my prince,” with a smile, you walk to the chairs, choosing one that is placed the closest to his, the corner of your lips pulling up in a bashful smile, but you are quick to shake it away, “Well…” he rests his chin on the palm of his hand, “I like to… bake. It is unbecoming of a lady, I know, we are not supposed to get our fingers dirty, but after my husband’s sudden passing… it has been of great help.”

  “What do you bake, my lady?” He asks, his gaze unwavering as he keeps his irises locked on your face.

  He is so handsome, you think. His short hair makes his eyes stand out more; his beard, long and soft-looking, you wish to run your fingers through it, caress his defined jaw, and watch him lose his focus. 

  Unfortunately, it is you who is losing her focus at this point.

  With a not-so-subtle shake of your head, you look down at your goblet, the warmth of the fire kissing your cheeks, heating your body, adding to the tension hanging between the two of you.

  You met him last night for the Seven’s sake. You must not enjoy how one looks in your direction, which is enough to send your heart racing.

  “Berry tarts,” you sigh, smiling a little, “My daughter helps too. She eats more than she helps, but it is good to have us… occupied so we do not wallow in grief.”

  “You have a daughter…” Baelor hums in amusement before he raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Margery?”

  “Yes, I am impressed,” you look at him just as shocked, his cheeks pulling into a wide smile, and you have to hide your flustered amile behind your drink, sipping gently before continuing, “Did you seek out information about us?”

  “No,” he chuckles, moving away a little to lean on the back of his chair, looking up at the sky for a heartbeat before his gaze finds you again, “I put the pieces together.” 

  “Hmm, you seem to like a good riddle, my prince.” You mimic his pose and look at the side of his face, noticing the sharp ridge of his nose, “And scenery.”

  “True,” he meets your gaze, smiling at you softly, and you notice the beautiful shade of red on his cheeks; you do not know whether it is from the flames or the wine, “You seem to like a black night sky as well.”

  “We used to have a telescope to watch the stars from the highest tower of the castle,” you explain in a hushed tone, “My brothers did not enjoy it as much as I did, especially when I would drag the Maester up there to help me look at the stars. It was a beautiful time, sometimes I miss being a child; away from grief and motherhood.”

  “That is a beautiful memory,” he replies, blinking at you with a curious yet empathetic look, “Did you love your lord husband?”

  “Ah,” you laugh in a gentle manner, looking at the stick closest to you as it burns at the other end, the fire coating the length of it slowly, “I did not at first, though. We weren’t a love match, but we grew closer; he was the second son, and I was the eldest child and the only daughter. Shared troubles were the reason we grew to love each other. And then came Margery in our second year of marriage. Seven years is a long time,” you suck in a sharp breath as you finish before looking at Baelor, “What about you? I’ve heard quite the tales about you and your lady wife.”

  “The tales are pretty dramatic compared to what we had,” he starts, finishing his wine, putting the goblet down on the ground before he combs his fingers and closes his eyes, a small smile growing on his face, “Just as you, our marriage was not as pleasant as a lady would like. Heir to the throne, Hand of the king from a young age… it was a lot of responsibility for us. But we got closer as the time passed, Valarr was born, and we were happier than ever. It did not take us long to fall in love.”

  “It is a lovely thing, to love another,” you whisper, smiling when his misty eyes meet your own, “To create a human and give them life. I wish Margery had more time with her father. The Seven took him from us too soon.”

  “You will find love again,” he mutters, and you notice how he fiddles with his rings, maybe to ground himself, maybe to stop himself from touching you. “You are a young and beautiful lady.”

  “Maybe,” you nod, squeezing your own fist before you bite your lip, “Maybe.”

Day Three

  “I like eating,” Margery says as she sits at the Tyrell table with you, swinging her legs and eating the meat they have brought from the hunt for lunch, “I like eating with you, Mama!”

  “I can tell, sweetness,” you kiss the top of her head, burying your nose in her beautiful curls as you smell the petals Celeste had dropped last night in her bath, “I like eating with you too.”

  “Can we have cake later?” She asks, looking around the tent to find the cake she saw earlier, huffing when she sees it on the high table where the royal family is sitting, “So far away!”

  “I do not know, maybe. We have to wait and see what plans the court has for us,” you reply, pushing her hair out of her face when she groans and pouts, busying herself with her food. You laugh softly, kissing the crown of her head again, “If you are good and eat all your meal, they might give us a huge piece!”

  “Truly?” Her big eyes shine with happiness as she looks at you, “A big piece with looots of cream?”

  “Yes,” you nod, then point at her plate, “Eat, and I shall think of a way to get you a piece, sweetness.”

  “Thank you, Mama!”

  You are about to respond when you see Prince Valarr stand up as soon as Lady Kiera walks into the tent, kissing her hand when she reaches him and easing her into her seat. That is when you notice Baelor.

  He is looking at you in a way that could set fire to your skin; unshakable, soft, with undivided attention as if he is memorizing you, carving the shape of your face in his mind until you are all he sees in his waking moments and dreams.

  A smile threatens to pull on your face, but you are quick to notice your good sister looking at you with a curious expression on her face. And you have to try to keep a mask on as long as you need to so she does not notice anything out of the ordinary.

  It is not that something has happened, nothing is going on, but the idea of anyone finding out you have drunk with the Heir, you have stargazed together, makes your heart beat against your ribs like a rabbit being chased.

  You do not wish for anyone to find out.

  You glance at your good sister, making sure she is happy and distracted with Margery before your eyes find Baelor’s mismatched ones; truly a wonder, a dark-haired Targaryen set to rule over the kingdom with orbs lovelier than the sea itself.

  Watching with bated breath as he stands up, he raises his cup to his son and future good daughter, “It is an honor to be the host of a lovely event held for my son and Lady Kiera. I have watched you grow into a handsome capable young man, and now, you have found compassion in a loving lady who will help you become the best man and knight you can be.” He smiles, looking around the room before his eyes catch your gaze for a brief moment, “You will become a strong and fair king one day.”

  “Thank you, father,” Valarr says, smiling broadly, “May we see you happy once more.”

  “Let us thank our guests as well for joining us in this week’s beautiful celebration!” Baelor sits down after that, and your eyes are magically pulled towards him, and you notice him whisper I hope so too in response to Baelor’s words.

  ****

  He does not realize how the time passes; from riding his horse back into the castle walls to the beginning of the feast at sunset. He is already changed into a black and red doublet, sitting at the high table with the King present next to him, sipping on his wine.

  People are dancing, and the King’s guard is standing nearby as they search the hall for any threat. There sit the big houses of the realm; Starks, Hightowers, Martells, Arryns, and Tyrells have all attended, and are placed closest to the high table.

  That gives him a good look at you and your little girl, whom you are caring for. He is reminded of Jena; she took care of Valarr and Matarys fussings, fed them herself as long as she had to. She would pat their heads and kiss them goodnight. He never had the chance to have his own little girl, a princess to spoil because his wife was taken too soon from him. Just as your husband was taken so hurriedly by the Seven.

  He watches the way yet another black gown is laced across your back, too beautiful yet soulless for a woman like you. He wishes to see you in your house’s colors; Tyrell and Hightower. But more than anything, he wants to see you in the bloodiest and finest silk in the entire Westeros. In his colors. In the Targaryen colors.

  Baelo Targaryen is a man of class, a man of patience, which is why his father has bestowed the position of his Hand on him. But even the mightiest men must have one weakness, and shockingly, his newest one is you. 

  He watches you talk with an enthusiasm that could become the sole source of his heart pumping blood. He can not help but smile broadly as he sees Margery jump out of her seat and twirl at the music, showing off her green gown to everyone.

  But then, he sees it. He sees the lord approaching your table. At first, he thinks nothing of it, the lord could have many reasons to come to the Tyrells, he could have a business plan, a trade deal, something, anything. 

  Apparently, it is none of them as he stops right next to your chair, extending his hand and smiling at you sweetly. Sickeningly sweet. Baelor has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but he can not stop the grimace on his face when you laugh and look down at your plate.

  “Are you well, son?” The king asks, his old body resting against his chair as he looks at Baelor with curious eyes, “You have been silent for far too long.”

  “Of course, why would I not be?” He tries to mask his emotions, but his emotions are too strong to handle, and his frown deepens even more when he sees you stand up with your hand in the Lord’s palm, your skirt sweeping behind you as the guy leads you to the dance floor.

  “Maybe you would like to dance…?” He has to stop the urge to grunt at his father, but he is not entirely wrong. He is not very good at dancing, the last time was with Jena at Matarys’ name day, the exact day he was born, in their chambers as she clung to him in pain, but she was happy and safe in his arms. 

  He thinks about the last time you danced. Was it at Margery’s name day perhaps? Or at your wedding? Could it be at a feast in the castles of Highgarden, or maybe in the garden of roses surrounding your home? Did you enjoy it? Are you enjoying it now?

  The lord is respectful, keeping his hands where Baelor can see; one on your back and the other holding yours as he slowly moves you across the floor among the other couples. 

  His body moves before he has the chance to rethink his decisions. The song is near its ending, his footsteps follow the rhythm of the music as he walks around the high table, passing the Tyrells and glancing at Margery watching you with a beautiful smile. 

  He nears the end of the dance floor where you and the lord stop, bowing as the song ends. You smile at the lord before you notice a familiar shape of dragon embroidery and turn your face to where Baelor is standing.

  “My prince,” you drop in a courtsey, ignoring as the guy bows deeply before he is dismissed with a single nod from Baelor. That was easy, he thinks, much easier than expected as he offers you his hand.

  “Please, Lady Tyrell,” he whispers, his fingers closing around yours when you place your hand gently in his palm, allowing him to pull you closer, “May I have your next dance?”

  “You may,” you reply, placing your hand on his shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, your fingers trembling in his hold, but he is steady and will be more steady for you. “I did not take you for a dancer, your Grace.”

  “Nor did I take you as one,” he loses his head until his lips are closer to your ear, “Though you are a beautiful dancer, a delicate one too. I had to sit and watch you brighten the entire room.”

  “You flatter me, my prince,” you breathe out, your chest heaving, your skirt brushing his boots as he twirls you once, pulling you even closer than before yet still making sure it is an appropriate distance. 

  He looks at you, wide-eyed and smiling, the glee in your eyes making this experience more joyful than it already was for you. 

  As soon as the song ends, everyone stops, and for the first time, he lets his most suppressed feeling become known in his eyes; you notice his pupils are blown that the blue and violet hue of his iris is invisible, his lips are a few shades darker, and his cheeks are tinted with red.

  You are the same with how you inhale harshly, your hands getting clammy and a longing look in your eyes. He wishes to devour you if he could right here, but the king is present, the court will whisper and worse, your reputation will be tainted because he could not resist his urges.

  “Meet me at our terrace?”

  “Yes.”

  ****

  You remember the first time you walked through these hallways, needing an escape from the feast, away from the noises of the boots stomping on the ground. The dark pathway led you to the balcony, where you met the Heir to the Iron Throne. 

  That fateful night had changed something in you both; something that started to pull you to each other whenever you were next to each other. As if you were tied together with invisible strings.

  You jog through the hallways as if you were born here, turning right by a memory and grabbing your skirt in your hands as you near the end of the pathway.

  There he is, standing with his back to you. His posture is straight, hands locked against his waist as he looks up at the sky. For a brief second, you wait and watch him; his shoulders are a little tight, his fingers fiddling together, the red of his doublet as red as human blood.

  He turns around, and you move without thinking as soon as his eyes meet yours. It takes three strides to meet him, cupping his cheeks before crashing your lips into his.

  Sparks fly across your skin, his lips are soft and warm, and the realization makes you nearly melt. He is everything you have been missing, something good, something alive. 

  His hands are unbelievably warm when he places one on your waist and the other on the back of your head, his lips moving against yours in a heated rhythm, stealing the breath out of your lungs feverishly.

  You grab the short hair strands on the nape of his neck, whether to tug on them or pull him closer you do not know, but you know that you do not wish for him to ever be parted from you, today or any other day to come.

  You gasp when one of his hands slips downward, grabbing your buttocks and squeezing harshly, making you gasp into his mouth, clutching him harder. His beard rubs across your skin – so unbelievably soft – as you scratch his jaw and kiss him with an open mouth.

  He pushes his tongue past your lips, pressing you to the stone wall as he pushes his knee between your legs when he feels you begin to go soft in his arms, holding you up and straight as he tastes the wine on your tongue.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he groans against your lips before he trails his kisses down your neck, making sure to pull down your neckline to attach his mouth to the soft flesh above your bosoms, his beard burning your skin as he kisses and nibbles across your skin.

  “My prince–”

  “Baelor,” he sinks his teeth into your collarbone a little as a warning, “It is Baelor to you, my dear.”

  “Baelor,” you whine, beginning to rock a little against his thigh, the amount of layers of your gown and his pants does not allow you to take your pleasure, “I need more.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he whispers, he kisses you again, “After the ceremony, come to my chambers. The tower of the Hand,” he licks your bottom lip and it makes you moan, “Shh, I will have you tomorrow night just the way you deserve.”

  “After the ceremony?” You rest your forehead on his, gazing into his eyes with a small smile on your swollen lips.

  “Yes,” he kisses you one last time before he steps away from you, and you notice the pained look he sends your way as soon as he loses your touch, “I will tell the guards to let you in without hesitation.”

  “I will see you then, Baelor.”

  He laughs softly at the way his name sounds this breathless and in awe, “Yes, tomorrow night.”

Day four

  His day started with the image of you, the memory of last night and the taste of your lips against his tongue, and a smile as big as his face as he got dressed. 

  Last night was magical, it had been so long since he had felt such a strong emotion swirling inside him. The last time was with his late wife, and he remembers that night the best; it was a few months after Matarys’s second name day, he was exhausted but she was very much lively and in need and they spent the rest of the night curled up together under their sheets.

  Baelor thinks of the two memories, side by side. He feels guilty for being alive after his late wife, he feels as if he is betraying her trust and love, but you… He has not felt so warm in such a long time, and you are making him feel like a person once more.

  He walks through the hallways of the Keep, passing ladies and lords as they greet him briefly, trying to keep his grin to himself but he is barely managing to hold his posture as a prince should.

  Until something, or someone small collides with his legs.

  “Save me!” Oh. Margery. She is pulling on his sleeves as she giggles and looks behind her before she tugs on him again, “She is coming after me!”

  “Who is?” He crouches in front of her, a small smile on his face as he notices the disheveled look on her; dark red curls in different directions, her white night shift large enough to cover her entire small body.

  “Mama!” She gasps when she hears the knocking of the boots against the hard floor, looking at him with wide eyes before she throws herself into his arms. “Save me from the beast!”

  He catches her effortlessly, already used to his boys tackling him down. She is far too gentler than he is used to, and he loves how she clings to him, arms wrapped around his neck.

  “Your mother is no beast,” he corrects her gently, picking her up with his forearm keeping her weight against his body as he pushes a few unruly strands out of her face, “She is a lovely woman who wants the best for you.”

  “She wants me to take a bath and wear a gown so tight it hurts my chest!” She huffs out, pouting a little and he is so close to crying because she looks so much like you, it feels him with so much endearment it nearly spills out of his ears.

  “I could save you from a gown but not a bath, little flower,” he kisses her forehead, walking slowly with her in his arms, “You should be clean, always. I took a bath this very morrow too!”

  “Did your maid scrub your arms–”

  “Margery!” You round the corner, heaving as you stare at her, eyes widening when you notice him holding her, dropping into a quick courtesy, “My prince.”

  “You are a prince?” Margery asks, tilting her head to the side, blinking her huge hazel eyes at him, “You did not tell me!”

  “I am,” he chuckles, glancing at you for a brief second, finding you smiling and looking all flustered at your daughter’s antics, “You did not give me a moment to introduce myself. I am Baelor.”

  “My prince, put her down,” You take a step closer, rubbing Margery’s back slowly, but she only hugs his neck tighter, placing her head on his shoulder, “Come on, please. We have a wedding to be ready for.”

  “Your lady mother is right,” he bites his cheek to stop from laughing when she huffs out in annoyance, “I want to see you dancing with beautiful hair at my son’s wedding.”

  “He is your son? He did not give me cake yesterday–”

  “Get down, little lady. I am not going to repeat myself, let the prince be.” Your tone changes into a stern one, making both Baelor and Margery look at each other before he kisses her forehead again before he puts her down. 

  “She was not being rude,” he states gently, taking another step closer, smiling down at Margery who grabs your hand and waves shyly at him, “I shall see you at the wedding. Would you save me a dance, little flower?”

  “Will you marry Mama if I dance with you?”

  “Margery!” You gasp, squeezing her hand in warning but she shrugs and hugs your arm closer, you close your eyes, trying not to melt when Baelor laughs softly, “I sincerely apologize, your grace. She is a child and–”

  “No need,” he shakes his head, reaching to hold your hand gently in his, the small contact between your fingers tinting his cheek in red, “I do not know about marriage, but I would like to see you in something other than black, my lady.”

  “What do you have in mind, your grace?” You ask, breathless and panting as he brings your knuckles to his lips, his beard brushing the back of your hand as he plants a kiss there, his thumb caressing your pulse point.

  “Red!” Margery squeals, pulling on your other hand as she jumps up and down, “You must wear red!”

  “I–”

  “Great choice,” he winks at Margery before kissing your hand one more time and letting go, his gentle eyes filled with an unknown warmth, “Targaryen red would be more than I could ask for.”

  “I do not believe it would be appropriate,” you whisper, clenching and unclenching your fingers, “The court will talk…”

  “They always do,” he replies, “Let them talk about your beauty, not grief.”

  “I… I will think about it,” you bend your knees in another courtesy before beginning to lead your daughter away, “Tonight…”

  “Tonight.”

  ****

  The gasp your good sister let out was truly worth it when you walked inside the Sept with Margery holding your hand. Red. A red so deep it looked as if you were draped in blood, Targaryen Red as it was requested.

  You watched the young couple get married in the eyes of the Seven, watched how Valarr’s cloak wrapped around Kiera’s body as she belonged to this house; the face of a beautiful queen to be.

  Baelor, as handsome as always, stood next to the King as he watched his son get married to the woman he so loved, but during the ceremony, his eyes would find yours. His attention, although mostly on his son and good daughter, would drift to you and Margery every moment or so.

  “Why is Prince Baelor looking your way?” Your good sister asks, her sharp judgmental eyes narrowing as she glances between you and the prince, “He seems to be shocked by your… appearance as well. You are grieving, that is an awfully inconvenient gown for a widow.”

  “I lost my husband almost a year ago,” you say, helping Margery climb into the seat next to yours as you wait for the married couple to arrive at the throne room, “I am young, I deserve to be happy.”

  “Yes, well, it seems you have lost all etiquette of the court after my lord husband’s brother died,” she smiles at you, her teeth sharp and his tongue poisonous, “At least for the sake of your daughter… do not tarnish her future.”

  “Mama, look!” She waves at Baelor, grinning when he sends a small wave back in her direction, “Prince Baelor promised me a dance!”

  “We shall wait and see, sweetness,” you run a hand over her curls, filling her plate to feed her enough if he decides to make good on his promise, “Let us have supper for now.”

  “I wish to dance! I will go to him myself!”

  “No, sit–”

  “Lady Tyrell.”

  “My prince!” Your good sister and Lord Tyrell stand up immediately, you though, can not because he is standing behind your chair, looking down at you with a gentle gaze that makes your heart palpitate so fast.

  “Your grace–”

  “Prince Baelor!” Margery squeals and wiggles in her chair, “We shall dance!”

  “Of course, my lady,” he chuckles and offers his hand to her, giving you a little room to help Margery down and hold his hand, “If it is alright with your mother…”

  “Absolutely, please,” you stand up as well, which seems to be the wrong move given how close you end up to him, having to look up at him as he towers over you, his eyes falling to your lips. You clear your throat and look down at Margery who is clutching Baelor’s fingers tightly in her small hand, “Be good for our prince, okay?”

  “I am always good!”

  “True, my lady,” he cocks his head to the side, smiling reassuringly, “We will have the best dance, and we shall show it to the court.”

  “I would not hold you back then,” you reply, bending your knees in respect and he bows his head a little before leading Margery to the middle of the room where the rest of the ladies and lords are gathering – Valarr and Kiera included – and he kneels in front of her, bringing her hand to his lips, relishing the small giggle she lets out.

  “Will you hold my hand?”

  “Dancing is all about holding hands, little flower,” he straightens his back, pulling her a little closer until she is standing on his boots with her flat boots, “Ready?”

  “Yes!”

  You watch them dance, ignoring the way some heads turn in your way, watching you then at your daughter and the Heir to the throne. You ignore them, as you always do, and watch your daughter giggle as Baelor spins her around. She looks so happy, her eyes shine as they did with her father when he was alive, and her smile makes your body warm.

  He picks her up when they have to move across the room, keeping her close and laughing when she says something, his eyes crinkling in joy.

  The dance ends sooner than you notice. Margery is fast on her feet as she bolts toward you with a big smile on her face, Prince Baelor in tow.

  “Mama! Did you see me?” She makes grabby hands at you, and you pick her up with ease, “Prince Baelor was so kind! He helped me a lot!”

  “I did! He is a prince, of course, he would help, sweetness!” You kiss her flushed cheek before meeting Baelor’s overwhelming gaze, “Thank you, your grace. You… you made her entire night.”

  “That was the least I could do for the most beautiful lady in the realm,” he pinches her cheek before withdrawing himself from your space completely, “I am very glad that I could be the cause of her happiness even for a brief moment.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” you smile, dropping in a small courtesy with Margery still in your eyes, ignoring the burning glare of your good sister against your back.

  “Have a great night, my lady.”

  ****

  Your heart is beating so fast against your chest as you walk through the hallway that you know ends at Baelor’s chambers. The guards are already standing there, white cloaks and shiny armor glinting under the soft candelight. You give them a small smile as you approach them, one of them ignoring you as the other nods, scanning you from head to toe in order to find something amiss.

  You nod in reply when they push the door open gently, slowly walking inside like a scared cat, taking in your surroundings before you find Baelor sitting behind his desk.

  His chambers are spacious; a large bed on your left, a terrace close to his work desk, a dining table close by, and even a small set of furniture gathered around a table. Lived in, dark, warm, and him. 

  You find a bathtub close to the hearth, and the steam of the water dampens the air in the room. With a curious yet shy smile, you stride in his direction, and he stands up as well, meeting you halfway.

  “Hello,” you whisper, placing your palms on his chest, his hands finding home on your waist just as quickly, pulling you closer until you are pressed against his body, “I was not aware we were going to take a bath.”

  “Neither did I, dear,” he brushes his nose along yours, “A change of plans that will only lead to me worshiping you.”

  “You are as tempting as sin,” your palm moving up slowly, cupping the side of his neck, your thumb caressing his bearded jaw softly, “It is… unbelievable, the way you make me feel.”

  “You do not give enough appreciation for your own beauty,” he bends down a little, placing a kiss on your cheek, “I believe you are the most alluring person I have ever met. Beautifully crafted by the old gods, new, and the doomed gods of the Valyria.”

  “I feel so strong about you,” you cradle his face in your hands, your lips only a breath away, “Undress me, Baelor.”

  “With pleasure,” he closes the distance, kissing you with an enthusiasm that makes you gasp into his mouth.

  His fingers reach for the laces of your gown, deliberate fingers, pulling on each knot until the red gown is pooling around your ankles, his lips moving with yours in sync.

  “Allow me,” he pecks your lips before he pulls back a little, “raise your arms,” you do and he pulls your shift up until you are only left in your small clothes, bare breasts falling into his line of vision, “Fuck me…”

  “It is unfair,” you reach to undo his doublets, dropping fabric after another until he is standing with his own white shifts until you are tugging at it, making him chuckle as he pulls it off, showing his toned chest and abdomen. “Oh…”

  “I have grown old–”

  “Do not say that,” you shake your head, “You are perfect for your age. Truly… a body sculped by the gods.”

  “You are sweet,” he kisses you again until you are breathless before he lowers himself on one of his knees, dragging your underwear down slowly, mouthing at your belly as he drops the fabric away as if it had offended him, “beautiful.”

  He grabs your hand, making sure you are secure as he helps you inside the tub with a steady hand after he kisses your thigh. His own desires made their presence known by making a tent in his underwear.

  “Join me,” you lean over the edge of the tub, resting your cheek on your forearm as you watch him stand up and pull the last piece of clothing off until he is as nude as the day he was born. 

  Your eyes are immediately drawn to his cock, noticing the soft blush that runs from the top of his stomach to his neck and cheeks, moving to make room behind your body, ignoring the way your body calls for him. Not now.

  He sits behind you, his knees bracketing yours as he pulls you flushed against his body, arms wrapped around your middle and his nose buried in the soft braids you have not bothered to undo.

  He kisses your shoulder, his fingers caressing the skin under your breasts as the warm water surrounds your bodies. He is gentle and caring in a way you have never experienced before – not even your late husband was this careful with you – and he makes you feel as if you are made of the most fragile and exquisite glass in the entire Westeros.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers, one of his hands moving to cup your breast, squeezing the flesh, making you gasp and throw your head back. He smiles, nipping on the shell of your ear, “I would pour us wine, but I am already drunk on your scent.”

  “Sweet talker,” you let out a breathless laugh, wrapping one arm around his neck before turning around a little to look him in the eyes, finding his gaze already dark and wanting, “Do you always invite noble ladies to your room?”

  “Never,” he brushes the tip of his nose against yours, the hand on your chest moving up to hold you by his fingers on the side of your neck, drawing you closer until his lips brush yours, not in a kiss but a promise of one soon, “You are the only woman I have found myself being smitten with.”

  You kiss him then, pulling him in by the back of his head, moving your lips against his forcefully, moaning in his mouth when one of his hands drops between your legs, fingers finding your pearl with ease.

  He is enjoying the way you melt in his arms, head resting on his shoulder as you let him feast on your tongue, sucking and pulling on the flesh of your lips as if they belong to him. They do, though it is too soon to admit.

  “Baelor…” you gasp when one motion of his fingers along the sensitive nerves sets your skin ablaze, “I need you.”

  “And I you–”

  You detangle yourself from him, pushing him back until his back hits the bathtub, a gush of water spilling out of the tub because of his movements.

  He is stunned, you can see it in his eyes as he spreads his arms over the edge of the tub and leans back with a surprised smile, watching with hooded eyes as you crawl into his lap, finding home on his body before kissing him again feverishly.

  You do not wish to waste any more time. You want him, here and now, and for many days as you can have with him. As you moan and gasp into his mouth, he helps you line up his cock with your winking hole, holding you against him by one hand wrapped around your back and the other on the back of your head.

  “Fuck– Fuck, Baelor.”

  “I know, dear,” he says through a choked breath, “Slow and gentle.”

  You nod but when you take him inside you finally, you slump forward on his body, your breasts rubbing against his hairy chest as you adjust to his girth. He is big; bigger than your late husband as it is only him you can compare Baelor to. 

  He groans, holding you close as he stretches your walls deliciously, enjoying the warmth of your walls as they hug him close. He tucks your face into his neck, the hand on your back moving to your buttocks, squeezing the flesh while he tries his best to resist the urge to fuck you.

  “Gods be good,” he throws his head back when you roll your hips down, using his shoulders to hold yourself up as you begin to move, leaning down enough to kiss his throat, smiling at the vibration that is felt over his skin as he groans.

  “You feel so good,” you whisper, trailing your lips up to his jaw, then cheeks, “Gods, you feel so fucking good–”

  “You were made for me,” you moan at his words, sinking your teeth into his thin bottom lip as you begin to move faster, the water around you crashing into your bodies in hurried waves. 

  He squeezes your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he bends his knees to thrust up inside you, slotting his tongue with yours in a desperate kiss as he takes his pleasure and brings yours to the edge of yours.

  Your noises fill the room, the sound of the water hitting the bathtub over and over again, adding even more noise to your coupling.

  He kisses you like you are air, he holds you as if you are a dream and he does not wish to wake up from it. He wants you more than ever, more than yesterday, more than the first time he met you. 

  Baelor tugs in your hair until you are gazing into his eyes – misty orbs meeting each other in the throes of pleasure – and you have to try to hard not to break the contact but his cock nudges the spot inside you that has your vision going white.

  You climax with a broken cry, fingers leaving half-moons on his broad strong shoulders, cunt clenching around his length for life. You do not wish to let go of him, you want him inside you for as long as possible.

  Your legs shake around him uncontrollably until he pulls you down and holds your limp body against his while he hammers his cock inside you. You can feel his body contracting for a second before he buries himself inside you to the hilt, filling you up with his warm seed as he whimpers your name into your hair.

  He is trembling slightly from the pleasure. You are sure he has had his share of women since his wife passed, but you do not believe any of them to be this intense.

  “So good,” he whispers, caressing your bare back and holding you close with a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder, “You were so good, my darling.”

  “So were you,” You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as the heat leaves your bodies, “It had been so long since I experienced… such a pleasant moment.”

  “I shall give you more if you allow me,” he tightens his embrace, afraid you would leave even if he is the one shielding you from the toxic reality of the court, “The night is young…”

  “I have to leave before dawn,” you whisper, but do not push him away, “But I suppose I have earned the right to join you in your bed,” he smiles at your words, pecking your lips, “And this water has grown cold and disgusting. We must get out of this instant.”

  And when his chest rumbles, you are sure of the decision you made.

Day Five

  “Look at the flowers!” Margery whines, stomping her feet as she stands in front of the bushes of the royal gardens, “They look so dead!”

  “Sweetness, they are just fine–”

  “They are not! Mama, look, the petals are turning down!” She almost starts crying, looking frantically across the field to find someone, anyone to come and listen to her, “They are not getting enough water.”

  “We shall find a way to tell the gardeners, is that alright, Marg?” You ask, turning her so you could look her in the eye, “Besides, these are not ours to mend–”

  “I miss my flowers,” she pouts, but does not pull away when you kiss her cheek and chuckle, “I love to stay but their gardens are bad, Mama! Can we tell–” she is distracted again, this time, by noticing three shadows walking in the same path as you, “PRINCE BAELOR!”

  “Margery!”

  You know the whispers will start to fly off soon with the way every head turns to the little girl running to where the Heir is standing with his son and good daughter.

  Baelor is quick to notice her, finding her panting as she reaches the three of them, frowning so deeply that a small crease forms between her light brown eyebrows. 

  “Hello, Lady Tyrell,” he says gently, leaning down a little to be less intimidating, “How can I help you on this fine morning?”

  “I am very displeased by your gardens!” She huffs, crossing her small arms across her chest, looking at him with a deadly glare that makes his heart burst through his chest, “Your flowers are dying!”

  “Oh, no,” he crouches down in front of her, his thumb moving to untangle her eyebrows. He has to stop the endearing teasing smile that threatens to overtake his features so he does not upset her further, “What shall we do, little flower?”

  “Our roses bloom when they get enough water. Yours are dying because you do not help them! If I don’t eat, I will die. Flowers are the same!” 

  “Best we start feeding them, then!” Valarr jumps in, clearly interested in the little fiery girl in front of him, and he notices you finally approaching them with a tired look, “My lady.”

  “My prince, princess,” you courtesy to the married couple before looking at Baelor, “Your grace, I apologize–”

  “No need,” he shakes his head, looking at Margery with a small smile, “Would you like to stroll with Prince Valarr and Princess Kiera?”

  “He did not give me cake!”

  “Margery, please don’t be rude–”

  “Please, my lady,” Kiera laughs softly, extending her hand to Margery, “We should remedy that! There is cake on the table at the end of the path, we could share some.”

  “Truly?” Margery asks, turning around to look at you for permission, “Mama, can I go? Please please please–”

  “If it is alright with Prince Valarr–”

  “Absolutely,” the young prince says, offering his arm to his wife as they begin to walk with Margery holding tightly on Kiera’s fingers. You can hear how Margery immediately starts talking.

  “I like your hair!” She says excitedly, making Kiera smile at her when she starts swinging their arms, “I like pink! I also like red! Like roses!”

  “Would you join me for a walk, my lady?” Baelor waits for your response, holding his elbow out for you to take, “We could stay behind them if it eases your mind.”

  “Oh, thank you,” you weave your arms through his, leaning a little of your weight on him as he guides you through the path, “She is going to talk their heads off.”

  “Good practice for when they would become parents of their own,” he replies quietly, resting his free hand on top of yours over his forearm, “Last might was…”

  “Magical,” you finish his sentence, smiling at him with a glimmer in your eyes. He chuckles and nods, remembering the vivid memories of last night with you tangled beneath his sheets, “I wish we could stay in those moments. You and me, hidden from the world.”

  “I wish you could stay,” he whispers, the words making your breath hitch, heart bursting inside your ribcage, “In the court, with me. Margery already loves this place, perhaps you could… find a position among our court.”

  “What exactly, Baelor?” You ask softly, shaking your head but smiling when you see Valarr pick Margery up, “As Princess Kiera’s lady in waiting? I am a widowed mother, no one would ever look twice my way.”

  “I would,” he stops, his grip on the back of your hand tightening slightly, “I would look more than twice. I wish I could look at you every day, my lady. Stay, I promise I will find a way to make it worth your while.”

  “We should not dwell on the unfortunate circumstances we are facing, instead,” you look around to make sure no one is actually paying you two any mind before leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, gazing at him with a small grin, “We should find joy in the remaining moments we have.”

  “Would you want to… go somewhere less crowded?” He does not wait for an answer as he slowly leads you to a hallway that reaches the lower levels of the castle, crowding you against the wall as soon as you are out of sight.

  He kisses you without a second thought, only wishing to taste the fine morning tea you shared with the rest of your family. And taste he does with how passionately he licks and nibbles on your tongue, pushing his knee between your legs and pulling one thigh around his hips, caressing the exposed skin of your leg until it teases your garments.

  You moan and kiss him back, one hand fisting his clothes and the other clawing at the back of his neck to hold him closer. It is insanity how much you need him, the prince of the realm, the heir to the iron throne, but more than any of his titles, you need Baelor.

  His lips fall to your neck, sucking on the exposed skin and grinning against you as he notices the eye-catching green of your gown – the color of the Hightowers – you are wearing. Colors, not those black doomed dresses you would wear the first few days.

  You hear the clutter of the plates against the ground close, making you gasp and push him away with a force that nearly knocks him to the opposite wall of the hallway as you both pant and look at the servant who is visibly shaking and crying as she stares at the two of you.

  “Stay where you are,” Baelor commands gently, not a hint of anger in his voice as he approaches the maid slowly, “Do not be frightened.”

  “M-my prince! I- I…”

  “This shall stay between us, do you not think so?” He stands closer to her, clasping his hands behind his back as he looms over her a little, “There is no reason to fear me. If words do not get out, you can stay and keep your job in the Red Keep.”

  “I will not tell a soul, my prince!” She drops to her knees in front of him, clutching his boots, “I beg of you, please have mercy on me–”

  You do not wait to find out what he wants to say, instead, you flee from their company with a hand to your chest, tears burning your vision as you try to find the path ong the sea of flowers to go back inside.

  You can only hope the words do not find their way into the gossip of the court, or The Seven forbid, to the ears of your good sister.”

  ****

  What we hope for does not usually come true. What we love always comes with a price, and loving the prince of Westeros is the hardest of all. 

  You knew from the moment you set your eyes on him he would become the sun in your rainy days. He became so dear to you in the shortest time possible, not just someone you liked but someone you loved. 

  Baelor Targaryen is a maddening man with the most beautiful eyes someone can possess; a blue so rich you could paint the sky with it and a brown so pigmented you would think they have built the mountains of the hue of his iris.

  He is whole-consuming, humble, soft, kind, and he can make your heart explode if he touches you. He is everywhere in your dreams and thoughts, he was all over you the night prior, and now, he is nowhere to be found.

  It is not his fault that your good sister is yelling at you with her husband, Lord Leo Tyrell shaking his head in disbelief, Margery still clinging to Kiera and Valarr. For the best to keep her away until the issue is resolved.

  “How could you jeopardize our name!” She screams again, pacing around your chambers as you have personally offended her. “They will now write songs about your stupidity! What were you thinking? Getting involved with a prince, and not just any of them but the one who will become King?!”

  “Clearly she was not thinking–”

  “Would you two stop berating me like I’m a child?” You hiss at them, looking out of your window and at the calm water that slides over the sands, “I knew what I was doing. A mistake but I do not regret it–”

  “You should,” she grabs you by the elbow, pulling you closer by a harsh tug, “You have ruined our reputation. We are the most important vessel of the crown and you and your careless actions have put us in a tight position.”

  “The court is already talking,” Leo sighs, clearly less agitated than his wife, “They have seen you. The prince has danced with Margery, with you, you have been caught in a compromising… way. It is not looking good, sister. We were planning to wed you to a Lannister to ensure you have a good life but now… I doubt anyone would want to cross paths with you.”

  “You wanted to wed me without my consent? I have a child, a Tyrell child who belongs to Highgarden, you can not take that away from her, from me!” You pull your arm out of her grasp and walk past her, “I would rather die than marry someone I do not hold affection for again.”

  “The prince – who it seems, you like, will not marry you, get that into your head,” she scoffs and throws her hands up in surrender, “He has his hands full with responsibility. He has an heir, he would not care to marry another.”

  “You shall leave then,” Leo stands up, glaring at you, “At noon, with the first carriage you could find. Leave for Highgarden, we will decide your fate when we come back.”

  “You can not send me away–”

  “You have caused enough trouble, do not make me rethink my decision and marry you off to avoid the scandal you caused,” and with that, he leaves, his wife – burning with fury – follows after.

  You drop on the chaise in defeat, slapping your hand to your mouth to muffle the sobs that wreck your body. You are going to leave before you make your prince’s life hell.

  You do not know how long you cry, only that one second, your chest stops heaving and you fall into a dreamless slumber.

Day six

  “I have not seen her all morning, brother.”

  “Who the fuck are we talking about?” Maekar drops his weight on one of the small council’s chairs, propping his feet up on the stone table.

  “Lady Tyrell,” Baelor sighs deeply, staring into the distance from the balcony, trying to get his mind to cooperate and help him remember where he could possibly find you, “She… she has disappeared since yesterday. I saw her at the feast last night for a moment but she vanished again.”

  “Why are you looking for a Tyrell anyway?” Maekar scoffs, drinking his wine while he looks at his Baelor’s face with disdain, “I have never seen you interested in any woman that walks inside this fucking castle.”

  “Yes, because none of them were interesting to begin with,” Baelor rolls his eyes, exhaling so loud it makes Maekar snort, “If you don’t have anything remarkable to say, then get out of this room.”

  “I believe your lady has been suffering from the court gossip, your grace,” his brother laughs, and the words draw Baelor’s attention immediately, “I heard Keira talking last night. The ladies have seen her with someone inappropriately–”

  “Fuck,” Baelor’s eyes widen in panic, his palms finding the back of the King’s chair as he holds himself up, “It was me… I- I am the reason she did not attend the feast.”

  “It was you? Fuck me, I thought you had lost your charm,” another snort leaves Maekar, groaning as he sits upright before drowning the rest of his wine, “They saw her with a lord’s hand up in her skirts, unbeknownst to them it was the Heir himself. Instead of these games of cat and mouse, you could have just courted her.”

  “It was not my intention to fall for her!” Baelor’s calm tone finally breaks as the gravity of the situation dawns on him, “I have not felt such an intense desire for anyone since Jena, and now I am about to lose her because of my selfishness.”

  “You could go and ask about her whereabouts if you are truly so concerned about her,” Maekar shrugs, approaching his brother with a pointed look, “But if you do, that means you are turning the rumors into the truth. Do what you deem best.”

  “I have to find her,” Baelor shakes his head and skips his way into the room, ignoring Maekar’s voice calling for him. He must find you, he must.

  He goes for your chambers first, finding no guard stationed at the doors. He bursts through the door in hopes of finding you and Margery there, but he finds the place empty of you and your belongings.

  The bed is made, the closets already empty, the desk void of any tea glasses, no sign of toys or small clothes that could be Margery’s. 

  “No,” he exhales sharply before turning around to move and find someone, anyone, he can help him. “No, no, no…”

  He runs down the stairs, ignoring the questioning looks of the lords and the sound of his assigned guards’ armor as they follow him. He must find Lord Tyrell this very second, or he will go mad.

  And he is very successful in his hunt, as he finds him standing with his wife in a corner of a distant hallway, talking in anger and hushed whispers.

  “You,” he approaches them, grabbing the lord by the collar before he slams him to the closest wall. This is not him, this is not the calm and collected Prince Baelor, this is Baelor Breakspear who is angered and distraught. “Where is she?”

  “W-who, your grace?” Lord Tyrell swallows harshly as he utters the words and Baelor feels the bump in the lord’s throat moving against his knuckles.

  “Lady Tyrell and Margery,” he hisses, tightening his fists on the lord’s clothing, “Speak before I tell my guards to go and search for her. If they do not find her, you will pay the price–”

  “Please, my prince, let go of him–”

  “Where the fuck is she?” He yells, and he can see the fear in Leo Tyrell’s eyes for the first time, “Tell me instantly if you wish to have a place in my court–”

  “She has left!” Lady Tyrell cries out, grabbing Baelor’s sleeves to stop him even though he has not raised a finger on her husband yet, “She was told to leave at noon.”

  “You sent her away,” the realization breaks his heart as he lets go of the lord to look at the lady, his attention completely on hers, “When?”

  “An hour or so, your grace–”

  “May the Seven give me patience,” he leaves the couple without a glance as he marches downstairs and to the courtyard, grabbing the reins of the first stallion he sees before he puts one foot in the saddle and swings his body over the horse, “Hey!”

  He rides out of the gates with the King’s guard behind him, following the path that he is sure you and Margery must be on. He is not thinking clearly, his head is foggy and his hands are shaking.

  He needs you to be alright, he needs you to be close so he can get to you and bring you back. He can not, and shall never leave you again.

  He does not know how long he rides until he sees a lonely carriage on the dusty road, he only knows he has to stop it before it leaves his sight.

  His stallion gallops up to the carriage until he stands several feet away, forcing the boy behind the reins to pull a sudden stop to the horses. He waits patiently for his guards to come and take control before he jumps down and walks to the door of the carriage.

  “Prince Baelor!” Margery is the first to gasp his name, “You came for us!”

  You look at him then, with a soft pout and misty eyes. He is as equally teary as you are, body shaking with worry and agony as he stares at you. 

  There seems to be years of longing between the two of you, months of departure and pain, but it has only been a few hours. It feels as if they have chained you in a room on opposite sides without letting you speak to each other, as if you have lost him altogether in a terrible nightmare.

  “Baelor…”

  “My dear,” he holds his hand for you to take, a pleading look sent your way, “Come outside, let us talk.”

  “I have to go back–”

  “You will not go anywhere,” his tone is clipped, he is not responding to argue, “You will stay by my side, here, in King’s Landing.”

  “I can’t,” you breathe out a broken sigh before placing your palm in his, stepping out of the carriage with small steps, looking back at Margery who waits eagerly for a moment to speak, “stay inside, alright, sweetness? I will be back in no time.”

  “I wanna hear!”

  “After we’ll talk, I will let you ride with me back to the castle, alright?”

  “Do not promise her something that you will not be able to do–”

  “She will ride with me back to the Keep,” he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you close until his forehead rests on yours, “I am a man of my words.”

  “Baelor, this was… we did not think this through,” you whisper, placing your palms on the back of his hand, lips wobbling as you try to hold back your tears, “I have caused you too much trouble already. Allow me to leave so you can live in peace–”

  “I can not find peace if you are not with me,” he kisses the tip of your nose, letting his tears fall on his cheeks finally, “I did not get a lick of sleep last night. You are occupying every thought I have; what you are wearing, what you are eating, how your eyes crinkle when you smile, how you touch your neck when you are nervous. There is no mistake in loving you, it never was.”

  “People will talk, they already do! They think I have corrupted you, they believe I am manipulating you into taking my hand in marriage–”

  “Then you are very good at it,” he lets out a water chuckle before placing a gentle kiss on your lips, not even drawing back to talk, he allows his lips to brush against yours as he speaks, “I want your hand in marriage. I want you to become my queen when I take the throne one day, I want you by my side even more in the days ahead. Margery will become a legitimate princess if I ask my father–”

  “You can not say these things,” you shake your head tasting his salty tears on his mouth as you peck him once more, “You will find someone who is better suited for this role. I am already spoiled…”

  “Spoiled?” He forced your neck back a little to look you in the eyes, “You are the most perfect woman I have met since my wife’s passing. You are kind, generous, and gentle, how could I seek someone more loving than you when you exceed all expectations?”

  “You are a charmer,” you smile at him a little, and he sighs in contempt, “How would we do this? How would you be able to tame the people–”

  “That is my burden to bear,” he kisses you again, this time a little harder to make his point known thoroughly, “I will request an audience with the King this evening. I need you to have some faith in me, and I will make both of you the happiest women in the realm.”

  “Can I come out now?” Margery peeks at you from inside the carriage, “Please? I am hungry, I wish to eat lunchen soon!”

  “You heard the lady, dear,” he kisses the side of your head as he tucks you into his side, wrapping one arm around your waist as he helps Margery onto the ground slowly with his free hand, “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  “No, Mama never lets me get close to the stable,” she pouts, “Can I go with the prince, Mama?”

  “If you promise to listen to him and follow–”

  “YES!” She grabs Baelor’s hands and tries to drag him to his stallion, “We will see you at the castle! Bye!”

  “Have a safe trip,” you manage to steal one more kiss from Baelor before he is entirely focused on your little girl, picking her up and placing her on his shoulder as he walks to where they are keeping his horse.

  With one last look at them, you sit inside the carriage on your way back to the Red Keep.

  ****

  Baelor’s head is pounding. The audience with the king went surprisingly well, but he had to be careful about the way he talked to him, even if the king was his father. It did not matter if they were related in those moments, he had to make sure every step was carefully planned to achieve what he desired.

  He pushes the door open to his chambers slowly, walking inside and finding you and Margery under the covers, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. He smiles at the sight, warmth spreading through his body as he gazes at the two of you until his feet begin to protest.

  He strips, carefully placing the clothes on his chair, peeling layers of the day off until he is standing in only his breeches. He has even discarded the white linen shirt he wears.

  Walking quietly to the basin in the corner of the room, he washes his face and hands, letting the cool water flow over his lashes and lips. With a towel that has been placed nearby, he dries himself before approaching the bed.

  “Baelor?” You whisper into the dark, slowly sitting up and searching for him, mindful of the little body sleeping next to you. You reach for him when he slides behind you under the sheets, his warm chest solid against your back, “How was the king?”

  “Well and healthy,” he replies, kissing your shoulder over your nightshift, “I told him everything, from the first night to today, I do not remember the last time I have been this detailed about something.”

  “You were nervous,” you smile craning your neck to look at him and he takes the opportunity to kiss you softly on the lips, “What else?”

  “We agreed to postpone the wedding to a fortnight from now,” he rests his head on the hollow of your neck, “It was a little tricky to tell him I wished to get married again, but my brother helped and strengthened my argument.”

  “That is good, I was worried you were alone in the dragon’s den.”

  “No, my brother couldn’t lose this chance to see me beg our father for something,” he scoffs, wrapping his arm around you while the other one stretches over your body to caress Margery’s head, “He wishes to meet you, both of you.”

  “Really?” You sigh softly, already tensing at the thought of talking to none other than the King himself, “Whatever will we say?”

  “That I am unable to predict,” he kisses your shoulder again, settling beside you with a soft smile, “Sleep, my dear. No one is going to need us on the morrow, I have made sure of that.”

  “Thank you,” you squeeze his forearm, “For coming for us, for fighting for us…”

  “I will do it a thousand times more, never think otherwise.”

Day Seven

  Baelor Targaryen spends the entire day from today to his last breath cherishing the life he has gained after years of loneliness. 

Tagging: @sylasthegrim @venmondiese <3